Brothers in Arms
by Leaper
Summary: In another world, an unspeakable tragedy leads to an unexpected addition to the Hummel family. This is the story of Kurt and David, brothers in fact if not in blood, and what their lives became, both separately and together. Probably future Kadam and Dave/OMC.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I'm _really_ sorry, "Worlds Colliding" and its readers. I will do my best to update it! But this idea just came and it was so interesting I couldn't resist. Some amount of angst expected ahead; the updating may be sporadic.**

 **Oh, and for this opening chapter in particular, tread lightly if car accidents, death, and the related are upsetting to you.**

 **November 15, 1994**

It happened because Frank Jennings missed a turn-off. That was all it took. One moment of inattention, and he saw the exit to the rest stop half a mile behind him in his rearview mirror. He cursed under his breath. He'd been feeling sleepy for the past twenty miles, but as a long haul trucker, he had deadlines to meet, and he couldn't afford to miss this one.

He yawned, long and loud. He shook his head, trying to will himself awake. He picked up the thermos in the cup holder and shook. Empty, goddammit. His eyelids drooped, his chin bumped his chest. He gripped the wheel tightly and opened his eyes as wide as he could. That tore it, he had to get off this freeway, had to find somewhere to park, to rest, to _sleep_ …

The next exit was just half a mile ahead — Lima. Just half a mile, and he could find somewhere, anywhere to pull over. Then he could sleep…

But after that night, Frank Jennings would fail to get a decent rest at least twice a week, because the nightmares would get to be too much. He would also never drive again, forcing him to move in with his eldest daughter and son-in-law. Just being behind the wheel, any wheel, opened up too many memories.

* * *

"Come on," Burt Hummel muttered under his breath, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

Elizabeth Greene Hummel gently touched her husband's arm. "Calm down there, soldier."

"You'd think that the city would fix the goddamn sensors," Burt said irritably, waving at the crimson light shining down on them. "There hasn't been anyone coming in the other direction in the past two minutes!"

"We don't have anywhere to be," Elizabeth said soothingly. "We have all the time in the world."

"Yeah, well, it's past eleven. I'm exhausted." He craned his neck, squinting into the rearview mirror. "Is Kurt asleep?"

Elizabeth looked back. "Yes," she said in a low voice. "Finally."

"It's in the blood, I tell you," Burt said, his tone lightening. "When I was a baby, riding in a car always got me calm too."

"Yes, yes, he'll be a big tough mechanic, just like his daddy."

Burt snorted, his attention wandering as the red light stretched on. The only other car at the intersection was to their left, a Honda Accord; he could barely see the silhouettes of the people within. He wondered what their story was, what they were doing out so late. He wondered if they were as happy as he was… or as tired. He'd noticed his parents' sly smiles when he'd told them Liz was pregnant; it'd struck him as strange at the time.

Now he knew why. Damn them for not warning him.

"Burt?" Elizabeth's voice broke him out of his reverie. The light had finally turned green; the Accord was already proceeding into the intersection. Shaking his head, he shifted into gear, hit the gas, and—

Everything that happened afterward happened in slow motion. That was obviously impossible, but that was what Burt's memories told him. That was how he was able to see Accord suddenly sliding into view in front of him, read their license plate, the bumper sticker underneath it. He'd just slammed on the brake when the Accord was replaced by a semi — red cab with a white trailer. He didn't remember hearing the impact of the truck against the Honda, but he did remember Elizabeth screaming, the screech of his tires underneath him, the burning in his muscles as he wrenched the steering wheel to the right.

Their car shuddered to a stop at a 45 degree angle halfway in and halfway out of the intersection. The trailer was less than 30 feet in front of them, also angled towards them. Burt gulped down air, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest, his hands glued to the wheel with sweat. His mind was racing; he couldn't sense anything but his own breathing and the adrenaline rushing through his body. It was the sound of his son, crying at the noise that jolted him awake, that finally snapped him out of his shock.

He turned to Elizabeth; she was pale under the halogen streetlight shining directly above. "Are you okay?" he asked. She nodded rapidly, barely turning towards him. Burt craned his neck to look out the windshield; he could just see billows of steam or smoke rising into the cold autumn air from beyond the front of the now-still truck. His mind instantly sharpened into focus; he put the car into park and undid his seat belt. "Stay with Kurt," he told his wife as he leaped out.

The night air was chill on his skin. There were no other cars in sight; it was eerily silent, except for a sharp hiss coming from one of the engines — probably the truck's. Burt dashed around the front of his car towards the truck. As he turned its front right corner, his heart dropped into his stomach.

The truck had smashed into the entire left side of the Accord, pinning its front passenger side into a light pole. The back windshield was webbed with cracks, so he couldn't see inside.

He could hear a baby crying, though. And it wasn't coming from his own car.

Burt circled around the back of the Honda. The rear right passenger side was the only part of the car untouched by the carnage, and he could see inside its still intact window. There was a car seat there, with a baby in it. The adrenaline rushed back again.

He tore open the back door and leaned inside over the child. But that also meant he got a good look at the other passengers. The man behind the wheel was obviously dead, leaning in his seat away from the impact. Touching his head was the head of a woman in the passenger seat; Burt thought he could see her shoulders shudder, but did that mean she was alive? He couldn't tell. Behind the driver's seat was another car seat, in which sat a boy who couldn't have been more than five. He wasn't moving. Burt forced down the gorge rising in his throat and turned his attention to the smaller child.

The baby was about the same age as his own son. It was screaming its head off, but miraculously, Burt couldn't see any sign of injury. Nevertheless, he was gentle and ginger as he undid the buckles and lifted the baby out. He heard another car on the other side of the intersection come to a halt as he carried the child back to the warmth and safety of his own vehicle. Elizabeth had moved to the back seat, and was sitting next to the still screaming Kurt. There was another car now idling behind theirs, the driver leaning out of his open window. "Are you all right?" he called out. Burt waved him off as he pulled open the back seat of his car.

"It's okay, Kurt, it's okay… " Elizabeth looked up as he appeared. Her eyes slowly lowered to the bundle in his arms; immediately, she held out her hands. Burt placed the child in her grasp. As she held it against her chest, a wave of exhaustion flooded into Burt; he had to lean atop the roof of the car to catch his breath. "The driver…" He looked down at Elizabeth. "Is he…?" Burt couldn't bring himself to answer, or even to shake his head. His wife seemed to pick up what that meant, because she closed her eyes tightly, her forehead gently meeting that of the baby in her arms.

The two of them were still trying to calm two squalling infants as the ambulance and police arrived.

* * *

 **November 17, 1994**

"Okay… Thanks for letting me know. Yes, thank you. Bye." Burt wearily put down the phone and rejoined his wife and son on the sofa. Answering the phone was the furthest he'd been away from the rest of his family in two nights, even with the work he was missing.

He couldn't bear the thought of what might happen if he let them out of his sight.

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked as baby Kurt dozed in her arms.

Burt sighed, a deep groaning sound. "The mom didn't make it. She died last night."

"Oh, no…"

Burt rubbed his eyes. "It gets worse. Sean says that he heard that when the police called her parents… Her dad dropped dead of a heart attack on the spot."

"That poor baby…" Elizabeth said in a whisper, unconsciously tightening her grip on Kurt. "What's going to happen to him now?"

"I dunno. Neither does Sean. But he says that the cops told him that the dad's parents are both dead, and with the other grandfather's death…" He put his arm around his wife's shoulder, leaning in towards Kurt. He planted a gentle kiss on the soft head before continuing. "There's more family on the mother's side, but most of them are either single or living in Europe. It looks like… It looks like the kid is probably going to go into foster care…"

"No." Elizabeth's voice turned hard, even as it trembled. Burt looked up at her in dull astonishment. "We have to do something, Burt. That child lost his parents, his brother… He needs stability, and you and I both know he isn't going to get it in the system…"

Burt could barely speak through the tempest in his thoughts. "What… Are you saying… You want to…?"

"I know we can barely afford having one child right now, but Burt, I held that baby in my arms at the hospital. I can't stop thinking about him… If I don't do everything I can to make sure he's all right, I'll never forgive myself. I know it's probably a bad idea, and if you don't think we should do it, I'll listen, but…" Her eyes were pleading, glistening with tears. "Please, Burt. At least think about it. We always knew we'd want another child eventually, right? It'd just be a little sooner than we planned."

Burt wanted to argue. God, he wanted to argue. Their time and finances were already being stretched thin as new parents… And what if someone in the baby's family ended up stepping forward? Could Elizabeth bear that kind of disappointment? There were a hundred — no, a _thousand_ reasons why this was the worst idea in the history of mankind.

But…

But that night had been haunting him too, maybe even worse than his wife. After all, she didn't see the bodies in the car. She didn't see the police pull the dazed truck driver out of the cab, didn't hear him babble incoherently in horror and grief.

She did, however, know what the foster care system could be like. One of her best friends as a little girl was adopted; she'd told those horror stories when the two were considering how best to start their family. True, that was decades ago, and very few adopted children went through anything so traumatizing, but he understood her reluctance.

But most of all, he remembered sitting next to his wife in the car, waiting for the paramedics to come to them, looking down at the baby — the innocent, beautiful child who wasn't even aware of the massive tragedy that had just befallen him…

Burt kissed his wife's forehead. "We'll see, okay? We'll give it a shot, and see what happens. All right?" She nodded, silently and gratefully, as the two returned their attention to their own child — perhaps to become one of two. "Did the kid have a name?" He wasn't sure why he asked; maybe it was to prepare himself for the possibility of his family opening up in a way he'd never imagined…

"David," Elizabeth whispered. "The nurses said his name was David…"


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This story will likely go back and forth time-wise, maybe quite a bit, before settling into linear time. I don't know yet how often I'll update or long or short chapters will be (these two issues are probably related), but each chapter will deal with a discrete time period (sometimes as defined by canon episodes). This one was already half written, and sets up a lot of what's going on, so here it is:**

* * *

 **October 14, 2010**

Burt Hummel had just about figured out what was going on with the 2000 Civic's transmission when he heard the shrill buzz coming from his pocket. It was _that_ ringtone.

Burt sighed, rubbing the grease off his hands as best he could. "Gary, take over," he said wearily as he plucked out his phone and checked the screen. Yep, voicemail from the school again. No need to listen to it to know what it was about — or in this case, who. "I gotta go take care of my kid."

"Got it, boss." It was old hat by now. Burt was just lucky he was able to hire guys he trusted with all the time he spent away from the garage.

It took him about twenty minutes with traffic to get to McKinley High. God, if he could've afforded it, he would've yanked his boys out of this goddamn school in a heartbeat and never looked back. But he couldn't, and Thurston was even worse from what he heard, so it wasn't like he had a lot of choice in the matter.

Besides, it wasn't like there wasn't a good deal of poor judgment going on, and not all of it by the school…

Burt's feet automatically took him into the school and into the principal's office by long practice. When he entered Principal Figgins' office, he saw exactly what he expected to see: a stern Figgins looking up at him as his son Dave sulked in one of the visitor's chairs. He was slumped in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest so the ACT UP logo on the tee he wore under his checked shirt was just barely visible. Dave looked up at his father, who didn't even sit down this time, just remaining standing, towering over his son.

"What did he do?" Burt said with another sigh.

"Mr. Hummel, your son—"

"Sorry, Principal Figgins, I was asking David." He glared down at Dave, who actually had the grace and intelligence to flinch a little. "What did whoever you punch do this time? Throw a Slushie on someone? Call someone a 'fag'? Look at Kurt funny?"

"Dad—"

"Mr. Hummel," Figgins began again, "David is on a very short leash here. I cannot allow this pattern of behavior to continue."

Dave glared contemptuously at Figgins. "It wouldn't if you would fucking _do_ something about the bullying problem in this place!"

"I am well aware of the issues among some of the students. But violence isn't the answer—"

"What else was gonna stop Cooper from tripping people down the stairs? Inviting him for tea?" Dave shook his head violently enough to cause links on the rainbow necklace around his neck to jingle. "Fuck that. Do I have to call the TV stations again?"

"Mr. Hummel!" Figgins cried out in a horror that Burt couldn't help but think would not have been there had the name of himself and his school not just been threatened. Probably Dave's influence. "Please, control your son! He is _this_ close to being expelled altogether!"

Dave snorted. "Hey, you wanna open up that can of worms? Be my guest. The ACLU's gonna _love_ hearing from me…"

"David!" Burt snapped. Dave actually shut up, one of only two people who even had the slightest chance to succeed. He turned to Figgins. "Principal Figgins, I'll deal with this at home. I promise you that Dave will be punished for this."

"Good."

"But at the same time…" he continued before anyone could say anything further, "I agree with him that there's a serious bullying problem going on that you're doing nothing to solve."

"David is exaggerating—"

"The fuck I am!"

"… And I assure you I'm doing everything in my power to deal with bullying." Dave laughed contemptuously; Figgins looked half angry, half hurt. "But there's only so much I _can_ do! And David is doing nothing to solve anything himself by lashing out!"

"At least I'm trying!" Dave turned to his father. "You know how many teachers took the LGBT safe space stickers I handed out? Eight. Out of this whole school, _eight_. One of them was _Coach Sylvester_ , Dad! Principal Figgins wouldn't even touch them!"

"I've told you, David," Principal Figgins cut in, "there is a time and a place for political statements—"

"I appreciate you calling me, Principal Figgins," Burt interrupted, because he knew that if he let this line of discussion continue, Dave would probably say something that _would_ end up getting him expelled. "So what happens to Dave now?"

"He is suspended for the rest of the week," Figgins said crisply. "It would normally be longer, given his history, but Scott Cooper has his... own disciplinary record. He will also be dealt with, if David's claims of bullying are true." Burt squeezed his son's shoulder, mostly to keep him from jumping up and yelling.

"All right. Thank you. Come on, son." Dave rose from his chair.

"I hope," Figgins said pointedly, "this is the last time we have to meet like this, Mr. Hummel. David."

Dave opened his mouth to say something, but Burt had long practice in the Dad Look, and he had no hesitation unleashing it on his son right then. As predicted and hoped, Dave was smart enough to stop himself; he shut his mouth sullenly. "I hope so too." He clapped a hand on his son's back and herded him out of the office. It wasn't until they were both in the hallway, almost eerie in its middle-of-period emptiness, that either of them spoke again. "David, this has to stop..."

"I won't just do nothing, Dad!" Dave snapped. "This place is totally out of fucking control! The teachers and Figgins don't do _shit_..."

"I know that. But how are you gonna change things and look out for Kurt if you end up getting expelled, huh?" Dave had no response to that. "We've talked about this before. You have to pick your battles, Dave."

"Dad, I am _right_..."

"But being right doesn't make you invincible," Burt countered. "If you're gonna do whatever it takes, there's gonna be consequences, and I can't protect you from them. You need to figure out how far you can go..."

Dave looked at his father with one of _those_ gazes: angry, intense, almost cold. His heart ached every time he saw it on his little boy's face. "I _have_ to push, Dad. I'm the only one who wants to change anything at this school..."

"Ah, yes," a dry voice said. "The lone gunslinger, trying to clean up the Wild West with just his broken down horse and his trusty six-shooter." They turned to see Kurt striding down the hall towards them. "I heard what happened," he said as he stopped in front of his father and brother. He shook his head, clucking his tongue. "You just couldn't resist, could you?"

"Don't you have class?" Dave asked irritably.

"Yes, but I'll pass anyway," Kurt said dismissively. "Well, at least it wasn't because of me this time."

"I told you, it's not your responsibility if I—"

"But it is _your_ responsibility to avenge every little injustice that goes on here? No wonder you spend so much time either in detention or suspended!"

"And when was the last time you got Slushied, huh?"

"I am not some helpless damsel that other people need to step up and _defend_..."

"Okay, okay, time out, boys," Burt interrupted, actually throwing up the coach's "T" gesture.

"But Dad, I'm sick of—"

"This is the thanks I—"

"Enough," Burt said, quietly but firmly. Both boys shut up. "This isn't the time or the place, okay? We'll definitely be talking about this whole thing you two have going on at this school later, but right now, Dave is going through something serious, and we need to be united, as a family. All right?" There was a petulant silence. "Now..." He clapped both his sons on the shoulder. "Make up, both of you."

Both young men rolled their eyes, but under their father's expectant eye, they hugged each other anyway. "Love you, you uncultured Neanderthal," Kurt muttered.

"Love you too, you prissy little diva."

"I'll bring your homework. As usual."

Burt nodded approvingly as the two separated. "Go back to class, Kurt. We'll see you at home." Kurt nodded back and retreated down the hall. "Come on, Dave." The two Hummels spent a silent ride home; it wasn't like they hadn't gone through drives like this anyway. As the two stepped into the front hall, Dave tossing his backpack at the foot of the coat rack, Burt said, "If you're going to be suspended tomorrow, you might as well make yourself useful."

Dave sighed. "Should I clean the attic or fix the bathroom drain?"

"Hm. Start with the attic. Then the drain."

"And are we gonna talk about... y'know... my suspension?" Dave wore an uncertain look, much more like the teenager he was supposed to be. God, when did he decide he had to be so grown up...?

Oh, right, _then_. Dammit all to hell.

"We've got the whole weekend to discuss that. Right now, I gotta check in with the shop. I might have to go back. Go on to your room; I'll let you know when dinner's ready."

Dave trudged into the hall as Burt took out his phone. It took half an hour of back and forth with Gary, but he was soon caught up enough to know what still needed to be done, and that he didn't have to return to the garage. It was almost disappointing, because as soon as he hung up, he suddenly felt... drained. Empty. Weary. Almost useless. He sank into the sofa and stared at the blank TV screen. It was only later (how much later, he couldn't tell), when he heard Dave move about in his room, that Burt snapped out if it enough to turn the TV on, just in case. Good timing, because not five minutes later, Kurt returned home.

"How was glee club?" he asked, somewhat distractedly.

"Fine." He heard the thump of Kurt's messenger bag on the floor. "I'm going to get dinner started." It was Kurt's turn to cook, which all three agreed produced the best results. "I already premade the lasagna last night, so all I have to do is put it in the oven and make a salad and garlic bread. It'll be ready at 6:30."

"Mm," Burt said absently but approvingly.

"Dave in his room?"

"Yup."

"Should I leave him alone?"

Burt considered. "Yeah, probably. Let him cool off a little. Go ahead with whatever you need to do with supper." He didn't have the energy or the inclination to change the channel or even mess with his phone; he just watched — no, more stared than watch. He paid more attention to the sounds of Kurt puttering about in the kitchen than whatever was going on on screen.

The minute the local news (oh, okay, so it was CBS) ended, Kurt announced, "Dinner's ready!"

Burt was immediately on his feet, his stomach suddenly growling. He went to Dave's room and knocked on the door, his knuckles brushing against the satiny rainbow flag hanging on it. "Time for dinner." He opened the door; Dave was sitting reclined in bed, reading who knew what — probably one of those leftist things he ordered on Amazon. "You okay, buddy?"

Dave sighed, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and plopping his feet onto the floor. "Yeah. I suppose." A moment of silence. "Is Kurt still mad at me?"

"Nah. I don't think he was angry at you to start with. Just a little ticked. You know how he can get." Burt raised an eyebrow, almost in amusement. "He sure knows how you can get."

Dave laughed weakly. "Yeah. Okay. I'm gonna wash up; I'll be there in a second."

So it was that the three Hummel men sat at the table for dinner — always the dining room table, never in front of the TV, no matter what they were eating. That was "tradition", if it could be called that, leftover from when there was actually some estrogen at the table. Burt nodded appreciatively as he tasted his first forkful of lasagna; it was nothing like the Stouffer's frozen kind he usually had. "This is good, son."

"Yeah," Dave said, his mouthful of food. "Good stuff."

"Chew with your mouth closed," Kurt said with wrinkled nose. "Philistine." Dave glared, but shut his mouth anyway. "Yes, it's a good recipe. Cheap, and much more flavorful and subtle than anything you could buy at a supermarket. Makes enough for leftovers too."

"I guess we have a new go-to now," Burt said. "Think Dave and I can learn to make it?"

Kurt shrugged. "Seems simple enough to me. Just follow the directions. I can show you if you want."

"That'd be good." The conversation just sort of... stopped then, as if it had run into a brick wall at 60 miles an hour. There was no sound but the clink of cutlery against stoneware, and the crunch of Dave's salad between his teeth. Burt sighed. "Okay, can we turn down the tension a little? We'll all sit down on Saturday and discuss what happened together. But right now, it's been a long day for everybody, so I think we should all relax and be just... normal tonight, all right?"

Kurt snorted, smiling a tomato stained smile. "Normal? Us? You sure you have the right family?" Dave laughed.

Burt grinned. "If I have the wrong one, I don't want to be right."

"Awww," Dave said with mild mockery. "The old man's gone soft!"

"You wish! I'm learning that game of yours! Your dad's still got a few moves left in him."

"A few," Kurt repeated. "A very few."

"Oh, is that a challenge, son?"

"Of course."

"After dinner, then. Loser takes the winner's next laundry day."

"Laundry? Oh, no, _nobody's_ touching my wardrobe. Dishwashing."

"You're on! Dave?"

"Fuck, yeah, I'm in!"

One rousing round of Wii Sports later, after which Dave was grumbling and Kurt was preening ("But you weren't bad, Dad, for a senior citizen."), the two boys retreated to their rooms for homework and preparing for bed. Burt loaded the dishwasher, just to have something to do. The rest of the evening passed without notice or complaint; before he knew it, he was hugging both his sons and wishing them goodnight.

There was nothing left to do but go to bed himself.

Even after all these years, he still couldn't get used to how empty the bed looked. He certainly couldn't get used to how empty it _felt_ ; he still huddled unnecessarily on one side. He distracted himself with meaningless Internet videos for about half an hour before he found himself stifling a yawn. But before he turned off the bedside light, he picked up the framed photo on the nightstand, as he always did. His fingers brushed against the cold glass, over the frozen faces of himself, his boys, his wife... He smiled fondly.

"We're making it, Liz," he said softly. "I have no idea how, but we are." His smile dissolved. "They're gonna be all right, aren't they? They're strong boys; they'll be okay. Right...?" He didn't know exactly who he was asking, but whatever the case, of course he didn't get an answer.

Gently placing the family photo back underneath the lamp, Burt Hummel snapped off the light and hoped for better days ahead.


	3. Chapter 3

**April 25, 1996**

"Hm."

Elizabeth put her book down as Burt slid under the covers next to her. "What?"

"I asked Kurt what he wanted for his birthday. You know what he said?"

"What?" she repeated.

Burt paused, licking his lips. "Sensible heels."

Elizabeth barely stifled a giggle. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," Burt said with a wince.

Elizabeth turned towards her husband, shifting against the pillows propped up behind her. "You don't seem to think it's very funny." There was a silence. "Oh. You think he could be..." She considered for a moment. "He's two, Burt. Maybe it's just..."

"A phase? Yeah. Maybe."

Elizabeth frowned. Burt's heart skipped a beat; he made her do that. He hated making her do anything but smile. "And is there some kind of... problem if it isn't?"

"No!" Burt said, his gut immediately turning into ice at how much of a lie it felt. "He's my son — _our_ son either way. It's just... You know I've lived in Lima my entire life. I just haven't had a lot of chance to meet people like..." He licked his lips; why did his mouth feel so dry? "... That. I don't know how to deal with that."

"Who said you had to deal with it?" Elizabeth replied quietly. "Seems to me that it's Kurt who'd have to deal with it if he is. And mostly because of the way other people would treat him."

Burt winced again. "Yeah. I suppose."

"I'm a big city girl, born and raised, so I guess I have a little more experience with unusual people," she continued. "I didn't go to church every Sunday, so I learned to live and let live." The book slid off Elizabeth's lap onto the bed between them; she put it aside onto the nightstand behind her. "So what does this mean?"

"Mean?"

"For how we raise our boys."

"I... don't understand what you're asking." Again, that was a lie — he had a faint inkling of her meaning, and every fiber of his soul rebelled at the idea of even considering it.

"I've noticed you play a lot more with David than with Kurt."

"Yeah, well, we agreed that we didn't want to make him feel like he was less of our son just because he's adopted, right?"

"Yes, but what David likes to do is a little more..." She hesitated, tapping her chin with a long fingernail. "God, I don't want to say _normal_ , but... Usual, maybe."

Burt shrugged, even as the pit in his stomach began filling with sick bile. "So maybe I just like playing ball more than tea parties."

"Because tea parties are what girls like to do."

"I didn't say that!" Burt snapped, much more peevishly than he'd intended. "I just... David likes to do the things I liked to do when I was a kid. I can relate, you know?"

"And you can't relate to a son who doesn't like boy things like his brother."

"That's not—!" Burt took a deep, calming breath. He and Elizabeth didn't fight much, but when they did, it was always a whopper, so he'd learned that it was better to try to keep his temper as much as possible as early as possible. It made for much happier homes in the aftermath. "Don't put it that way. It makes me sound like—"

"A bigot?" Elizabeth said quietly, but with a distinct edge, like a knife blade. Burt could feel heat rising within him. "I know you hate what you were in high school, but didn't you just say that's how you grew up?" Her face softened. "You've come so far since I met you, Burt, and I think you should be proud. But I've been meaning to talk to you about this, because I can't ignore it anymore. This isn't just about you, or even me — this is about our sons, both of them. Our jobs as parents became a lot tougher when we adopted David, and we have to grow up a little ourselves if we're going to make sure they both feel like part of our family. We both know we have to make sure David considers himself just as much of our son as Kurt, especially when he finds out he's adopted. But do you really want to make Kurt feel like you love David more because he likes what you do?"

The heat was quickly dissipating, leaving Burt feeling a little cold inside. "I..." he began lamely. "I don't relate as much to Kurt..."

"Well, try harder," Elizabeth said bluntly. "He's our son, and the last thing he needs from us is any idea that we could possibly disapprove of him just for being him. Especially now that we have a substitute for him in our family."

The heat rose again. "Substitute?! David's nobody's substitute—" Elizabeth merely nodded silently in reply. When it finally sank in, Burt was glad he was laying down already, because he felt physically ill. "Fuck..."

"Here's what we're going to teach our sons," Elizabeth said in a tone that brooked no opposition. "They're going to learn that we love them for whoever they are, whatever they are, and that they don't need to change to earn our attention. They can do and be whoever they want to be, and nobody's going to stop them, _especially_ not anyone in this family. Because families support each other. Got it, mister?"

Her tone of voice made Burt feel like he was being spoken to as another child, not a husband, but any protest, he knew, would've been halfhearted at best. But he did gather the courage to joke weakly, "What if they want to be a serial killer or something?" Oh, God, that glare... She hadn't unleashed that glare on him in years — not since he made his first and last ill-conceived joke while she was pregnant with Kurt — and he didn't miss it. At all.

"That's not the point. The point is: what are we buying Kurt for his birthday?" she said flatly, crossing her arms.

Burt had to take a second to think, but only a second. "Sensible heels," he sighed.

"And why?"

"Because wearing heels and having tea parties doesn't make him any less of our son, or any less of a man." He wondered just how often he'd have to repeat something like this, either aloud to her, or silently to himself.

Elizabeth nodded in satisfaction. "Good." She patted his cheek in a condescending manner that would've raised his hackles if he weren't already conscious of how delicate his wife's mood was becoming. "I don't want to police you, Burt. That's not going to be good for anybody. But Kurt and David are individuals. They're two different people, but they're both family, and they both deserve respect. Didn't I tell you about how my Grandma Belle treated my mom and my aunts?"

"Yeah. You did." Some of her stories were actually pretty bone-chilling, despite involving not a single violent act or cross word spoken aloud. He could _feel_ the atmosphere in which she and her mother grew up through those words.

"Maybe I wouldn't have brought this up at all if we were just raising Kurt, but with David here..." She rested her hand on his shoulder. "We'll probably make mistakes — a lot of them — but we need to try. We both need to try our hardest. You understand, don't you, honey?"

"... Yeah." And he did too —that was almost the worst part. "I'll do my best, Liz. I promise."

She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you. And our boys thank you too, I'm sure."

Minutes later, as the two lay in darkness, his wife's arm slung over his chest, Burt had a rather startling realization.

As nervous as he was, for himself and the future, he somehow felt better than he had in a long time.

* * *

 **October 6, 1996**

"Mommy?"

Elizabeth looked down at the little boy tugging at her skirt. "Yes, sweetie?"

"Why are they laughing at Kurt?"

Elizabeth's soul froze. Her own anger at the snickers and the stares were bad enough, but for David to have noticed too... It made her want to scream. If there were any other schools in Lima that taught ballet, she would've taken Kurt and David and left without a second thought. She knelt by her son, praying as she did that she could think of the right things to say. "They're mean," she said in a low voice. Okay, maybe her anger was getting the better of her, but dammit, she couldn't stop herself.

David's eyes widened. "Why?"

"Because they don't know Kurt. They don't know what a special brother he is. They don't understand how talented and loving he is."

David's face scrunched up in thought. "But some of the grown-ups are laughing too..."

Elizabeth pursed her lips, trying to will herself not to use words that she wouldn't want David to repeat later. "Adults can be just as mean as kids sometimes. Just because they're grown-ups doesn't mean they're right all the time."

"Even you?"

"Even me. I try my best because I love you and your brother, but I might make mistakes sometimes. But that's okay, because everybody makes mistakes. What's not okay is when your mistakes hurt other people."

"So it's okay that Kurt's in ballet with the girls?"

"Absolutely. There's nothing wrong with Kurt being in ballet. If these... _people_ can't understand that, that's their problem, not Kurt's, or yours, or anyone else's." She looked her son straight in the eye. "David, can you promise Mommy that you'll never let other people hurt Kurt, or anyone else? Can you promise never to be mean like these people are? It's very important we all love each other, okay?"

David's face turned serious, as only a three year old's can. "Okay, Mommy. I promise."

"Good," Elizabeth beamed, hugging David tightly. "You just remember how important it is to keep promises, okay?"

"Okay."

Though her heart still beat with trepidation, she managed to turn her attention back to Kurt, her bright cheerful little boy, leaping and turning his little heart out. "Isn't Kurt a really good dancer?"

"I guess."

"Do you think you want to dance like that someday?"

"... Maybe."

It was only a small cause for hope. But it was enough.

* * *

 **May 25, 2010**

"Carole..."

"Yes?"

"I... I have something to say."

"... Yes?"

"You know how I feel about you, right?"

"Yes, I do. And I feel the same for you."

"You... You're the first person since Liz who's made me feel anything like this. I want to keep pushing our relationship to the next level."

"But...? I sense there's a 'but' here."

"... Yeah. There's a reason I haven't asked you to move in with me yet. It's just... My boys, they'll always be first in my life..."

"I completely understand."

"... Yeah, you would, wouldn't you? Anyway, I've heard that things... uh... haven't always been the best between Finn and my sons at school..."

"You do remember how we met, don't you?"

"Oh. Heh. Yeah. But still... If we moved in together right now... I'm really afraid it might be a disaster. Kurt and Dave still miss their mom, for one thing, and Finn doesn't know what it's like to live with them — people who think and believe and act like them. And I'm not blaming Finn for anything, I swear..."

"No, I understand what you're saying. Actually, I've always admired the good job you did with your sons."

"Really...? God, Carole, thanks for reminding me why I love you so much..."

"Kurt and Dave are part of the reason I love _you_. But I think you're right. Your sons are stubborn and proud, just like their daddy. Just tossing us into the comfortable environment you've created for them won't end well for anyone."

"Thank God... I was so afraid that you'd be mad..."

"I told you, I understand what it's like to have to put your children before yourself."

"So I've been thinking about this. A lot. Before we move in together, or... anything else, I want to integrate you and Finn into my family slowly, starting right now. Get everyone used to each other, and the idea of living together. Work out all the conflict and kinks while we still have our own homes to go back to. Make sure all three of our boys understand we aren't trying to replace anybody. Is that... Is that something you want to do?"

"It sounds like something thought out carefully by a man who cares about his family, and who has his priorities straight. I think it'll only make what we have stronger. I think... I think you're worth waiting for."

After that, there were no more words. It wasn't like either of them could physically speak, anyway.

* * *

 **Preggers**

When Burt stepped into the room and switched off the music, everybody froze.

It was a rather comical tableau, with the three spandex-clad teenagers caught in mid-pose; Tina's foot was even off the floor, and she swayed a little attempting to keep her balance.

"So..." Burt said with raised eyebrows. "What's up?"

"We..." Kurt had to begin again. "This is a dance from the video for the Beyonce song 'Single Ladies'. Thus the costumes."

"Ah. I see." There was a dead silence. "Mind if I try?" Burt asked with a grin.

"What?" Brittany managed to squeak. Sure, the rest of New Directions had heard of Burt Hummel, but seeing him in action in person was another thing entirely.

Burt shrugged. "Looks like fun. C'mon, teach me." He turned the stereo back on.

Kurt laughed. "Okay, if you insist. The key is the wiggle..."

"Yeah, I saw that. Like this?"

This time all three young people laughed. "Almost," Kurt managed to say through his silly smirk. "Here, follow us. One and two and..."

Somewhere in the middle of the shaking and turning and laughing, Burt said, "You know, I hear that some football players use ballet to improve their moves."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Ever think of trying to use your performing skills with something else? Like sports?"

Kurt actually paused in his dancing. "Huh. That's an interesting idea. I'd never thought of that."

"Not trying to pressure you, or make you do something you don't want to do," Burt added hastily. "But I just thought it might add to your college resume. And hell, maybe you'll find something new you enjoy doing."

"Hm. Maybe. But if I do try to lend my admittedly fantastic physical skills to sports, I doubt it'll be football. What good would I be in a football game?"

"Kicker, maybe?" Brittany suggested. "They usually don't get hit, and you use your legs pretty good."

Kurt snorted. "I can't imagine how Dave would feel about me being on the football team. On one hand, he'd go nuts thinking about me alone in that locker room with all those testosterone-poisoned jocks. On the other hand, maybe people wouldn't try to mess with me so much if I were on the team, and Dave could actually relax once in a while..." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Huh," he said again.

In no universe, it seemed, would Puck, Mike, and Matt avoid the pull of the glee club. If they'd known, would they have minded? Probably not. Either way, when Kurt ran towards the bleachers after the winning field goal, into the congratulatory back-slaps of his brother and the embrace of his father, the latter whispered in his ear, "You didn't have to do this. But I'm still proud of you. You worked hard, and you succeeded. That's all I ever want for you."

That meant more to Kurt than any victory.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** **The events of this chapter are literally a sad necessity.**

 **September 1, 1998**

The minute the door creaked open, Burt Hummel could hear sobbing and sniffling. That immediately got him to his feet and into the foyer. David was the one blubbering, as Kurt gently led him into the house, hand on his brother's back. Elizabeth trailed behind, an odd, almost delicate look on her face.

"What happened?" Burt demanded as Elizabeth shut the door behind them.

"He was teased by the other kids," Kurt said, his face, red as his bow tie, set into a grim mask of simmering outrage.

Burt's own umbrage was stirring. "Oh, yeah? What did they say?"

A chill seemed to fall over the room. Burt had no idea where it came from, but it was distinctly there. His heart began to pound; somewhere deep in his soul, he knew that whatever the answer was, he wouldn't like it.

And indeed he didn't. David finally managed to stammer, through his tears, "Th-they said you weren't my real mommy and daddy. They said I didn't have a real mommy and daddy because they're dead!"

Oh.

"I told you, they're just lying!" Kurt said hotly. "See? They're both here!"

Burt and Elizabeth exchanged a glance. A lot was said in that glance. Maybe they'd put this conversation off for too long. Were they hoping it'd just sit until the boys turned 18? Were they counting on Ohio sex ed being so bad that neither of them would figure it out? Whatever the case, it looked like it was time. They hadn't counted on other families talking (even though in this place, that was all some of them ever seemed to do) — their error. Now they had to have one of the toughest talks they'd probably ever hav in their lives.

Burt wasn't ever one for self-help books; neither was his wife. On the other hand, going this alone definitely increased the tension and stress. They had to pray that they were doing and saying the right things. Perhaps they'd never know if they were or not; that was the hardest part.

He finally took a deep breath. "Okay, I think it's time for a family meeting. Come on, boys." The kids dutifully followed Burt to the living room, Elizabeth trailing behind them. As they sat together on the couch, David wiped the last of the tears from his face. Burt pulled his recliner so it was facing the couch, with Elizabeth sitting on the armrest next to him. Seeing the boys' expectant faces, the two adults joined hands and squeezed.

"David..." The name seemed to be suspended in the air, thick and heavy. "We need you to tell you something very important, okay?" He and Elizabeth exchanged one more glance before he bit the bullet. "You were adopted."

David seemed to turn the word around in his mind. "A-dopted...?"

"Yes." Burt sucked in a deep breath. "That means that you weren't born to us. You were born to another couple, and we took you into our house when you were a baby."

There was a deep, almost physically heavy silence.

"Then..." David's eyes were glistening. "What they said was true...?"

"No, it wasn't," Elizabeth said firmly. "Not all of it. You may not have been born to us, but we are your parents. We wanted you to be our child very badly. We talked to a lot of important people and spent a lot of time to make it happen."

David fell silent once more, but he didn't look like he was on the verge of crying again anymore. It was Kurt who asked the next question. "Then... What about me?"

"You were born to us, Kurt," Elizabeth said, "not long before we adopted David. But we love you both equally. That's why we raised you both as brothers: because you are brothers, no matter how you were born."

"Then..." David cut in, "what about my real mommy and daddy? Are they really dead...?"

Oh, boy, death. Without a pet in the house, that concept hadn't become immediate and personal yet. No way was Burt going to handle _both_ of those topics at once. "They... couldn't take care of you." That, at least, had the benefit of truth to it. God, why did he feel like a blind man stumbling through a hall lined with razor blades? "And like your mom said, we _are_ your mommy and daddy. We both love you two very much, and to us, you're both our children just the same."

"Then..." David sniffled. "You aren't going to go away like they did...?"

Elizabeth immediately slid off the armrest, wrapping David in her arms. "Oh, no, honey, no... We asked to have you as our child because we _wanted_ you."

"Now, Kurt," Burt said, "this doesn't change anything about this family. _Anything_ , you understand? You two are brothers, and we expect both of you to look out for each other, because that's what brothers are supposed to do. All right?"

There was a bare moment of hesitation, but Kurt nodded. "Okay."

Burt got up to ruffle Kurt's hair. "Good." Then he wrapped his entire family in his own embrace: wife and sons all. "We're a family, okay? We love each other, and we're gonna stick together, no matter what. You all hear me?"

"Uh-huh," one of the boys said. Burt couldn't tell which one.

"We'll be all right," Elizabeth whispered into Burt's ear, her fingers caressing his back. "As long as we stick together, we'll be all right."

* * *

 **August 31, 2002**

It was hard enough for Burt to see Elizabeth, see her wasting away before his eyes in that hospital bed. But having to watch his sons see it too, see the slow realization, the anguish, the fear... If there was any reasonable way he could've shielded them from this entirely, he would've taken it in a heartbeat. But no, if he deprived his boys of their last days with their mother, no matter how painful, they'd never forgive him.

He'd never forgive himself.

So there he sat, next to Elizabeth's bedside, between Kurt and David, watching them stare at their dying mother, who gamely tried to keep a warm and gentle smile on her face, even through her obvious pain, paleness, and sunken features. His boys' eyes glistened, but there weren't any tears falling. Maybe they'd used them all up in the beginning, when the truth first began sinking in. Now that hope was gone, and the waiting was all that was left, maybe they, like he, had resigned themselves.

"Mommy..." David rasped. "Please don't go."

Or maybe not.

"David..." Elizabeth said in a surprisingly strong voice, her hand clasped over her son's, "as long as you remember me, I'll never be gone from your heart. As long as you love your daddy and brother, you'll never be alone."

"Mommy..." Kurt began, his voice just as choked.

"You boys look out for your father for me, okay?" She caressed Kurt's cheek. "I want you all to look out for each other, and stay strong, for me. All of you." Her eyes found Burt's for a brief but significant second before she continued. "I want the three of you to live your lives to the fullest, and protect and love each other. That'll make me happy no matter what happens. Okay?"

The way her voice broke on that last word similarly broke Burt's heart. He had to resist the urge to bury his face in his wife's chest and weep — he'd already done that, anyway. So instead, he hugged his children around their shoulders, felt their trembling in his hands, and wondered if they could feel his. He hoped not. "Okay."

"Anything, Mommy," Kurt said. David nodded silently.

Elizabeth smiled again, this one stronger and more genuine. "Mommy's tired. Mind if we talk tomorrow?"

"Of course." He rose; the boys remained seated. "Come on, we have to start dinner anyway."

"See you tomorrow, Mommy." Kurt gently hugged her — very gently, as if he were squeezing a china doll.

"Don't die, Mommy," David whispered as he did the same.

Burt wished — wished with all his heart — that he could promise his boys that their mother would still be there tomorrow. But he couldn't, not even to himself, and that was the worst part of all.

As it turned out, she was there the day after. And the day after that.

But all those days — like all days — had to come to an end.

* * *

 **July 14, 2007**

It was clear and hot, typical of Midwestern summers. Yet all Burt Hummel could feel looking down at that brass marker was cold.

It wasn't right; his soul rebelled at every aspect of this... _situation_. His boys should've been enjoying their school-free summer, running around carefree... with their mother watching them like a hawk, but still laughing when a water balloon hit home. They shouldn't have demanded they keep their "appointment" to see their mother on such a beautiful day.

But they did, and Burt couldn't say no. He wouldn't have said no for anything, actually.

It was a familiar sight, every other month or so: the three Hummel men, gathered around the grave site of Elizabeth Greene Hummel. Visits had almost a sacred feel, a hush seeming to fall over the entire world when they arrived at the grave, so profound that hearing the roar of an overhead jet engine or a lawn mower or even just a truck startled him. Dave was the most insistent on seeing her semi-regularly, and Burt really couldn't blame him, especially once he (and Elizabeth, once — just one of many things he was so unused to doing alone) began telling him more about his origins.

He glanced over at his adopted son and stopped short. Outwardly, he seemed much the same as he usually was on these occasions: his eyes blank and staring, lost in memories that Burt could both imagine and not even start to fathom. But his paternal instincts, honed by thirteen years of raising this boy, told him something different — that there was, well, something different about Dave today. He was thinking something else, feeling something else... An unnameable and completely inexplicable dread came over Burt.

For the moment, he kept silent, watching along with Dave as Kurt laid a single flower (this time it was a rose bought from a florist's shop) upon the marker. After a moment of contemplation — or maybe something like prayer, though none of them had set foot in a church since the funeral — it would usually have been time to leave, silently, still lost in their thoughts and memories.

"Dad?"

But when Dave broke that pattern, the dread returned, stronger than ever.

"Yeah, son?"

"My... other mom and dad. The ones who gave birth to me..."

Burt hated that his instincts were right. He stole a glance at Kurt, whose face betrayed nothing of his thinking or feeling; it was as though his face was frozen in some kind of horrible neutrality. It took Burt a moment to find his voice again. "Yeah?" he repeated.

"Are... are they here?"

"Here...?" He glanced around them, and the headstones and markers stretching out as far as the eye could see all around them. _Oh. Oh God._ "I... I don't know."

"You're lying!" Dave barked with a heat and rage that actually staggered Burt a little. Kurt's eyes widened, but he still said nothing. "I wanna see them!"

Burt couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe. He knelt in front of Dave, distantly feeling Kurt's hand on his shoulder; he thought for a moment his heart would burst in gratitude for that tiny gesture. "David— Dave. Are you sure this is a good time? I'll take you, but only if—"

"I want to see them!" Dave was almost shrieking, and he looked like he was one lost moment of control away from stomping on the ground. "I want to see them _now_!"

Burt immediately grasped Dave's shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "Okay, okay... We'll all go together. Is that all right, Kurt?"

Kurt merely nodded. His continued silence was maybe the most surreal and disturbing part of all.

Burt led the way. Though he hadn't been to _their_ graves in years, not since the day they were buried, his feet took him unerringly through the twisted paths of the cemetery until finally, they were standing mutely in front of three graves.

Paul Randall Karofsky. Devoted husband and father.

Debra Hearthstone Karofsky. She sees the face of God.

John Murray Karofsky. Taken from us too soon.

All with the same date of death. Some back part of Burt's mind wondered whether anyone who didn't know these people stumbled upon these graves, if they read the dates, if they felt any twinge of grief or sadness for what was self-evidently a tragic story.

Burt could feel both of his sons stir next to him. He decided, though not without some pain, to turn to Dave first. "You okay, son?"

Dave didn't answer at first, his eyes locked on the graves. Finally, he said, "Were there a lot of people at the funeral?"

There was a heavy silence before Burt answered. "Yes. Yes, there were. A lot of people came from all over."

"Do you have any pictures?"

"No... I didn't think to take any pictures."

"Oh." The word was lifeless and dull; Burt felt Kurt stir once more.

"Mind if I ask you something, son?"

"... Yeah?"

"What made you think of asking now?"

"I... dunno. I guess I've been thinking about them for a while. Ever since Mom..." He swallowed audibly. "What did they look like?"

A flash: broken glass, blood, the hissing of steam... "I... dunno," Burt said lamely, echoing his son.

"I couldn't find any pictures of them on the Internet," Dave said with a choked voice to no one in particular, his balled-up fists trembling. Whatever he'd been doing to hold back tears up to now failed; they fell from his cheeks and splattered onto the grass, barely missing the markers. "They were my family, and I don't even know what they looked like..."

He turned and sprinted towards the car. Burt stepped forward to follow, but hesitated; would he just make things worse? He watched helplessly as his son left his sight. When he came back to himself, he felt Kurt hugging him; he didn't know when it'd started, but he was grateful nonetheless.

* * *

 **November 10, 2002**

Even with himself and his boys in it, the house felt empty without her.

Burt loosened his tie as David shut the door behind them. "Go to your room," he told his sons. "Change out of your suits and get ready for dinner."

"I'm not hungry," Kurt muttered.

Neither was he, but he wasn't about to say that. "But you'll be hungry later. And you know how important family dinners are." _How important Liz thought they were_. It was a truth that didn't need saying aloud, not even to two eight year olds. "We'll have leftover pizza. Go on now."

The two children silently obeyed. As soon as they were out of sight, a wave of total exhaustion flowed over Burt. He wanted to drag himself to bed and sleep for a week — maybe a month...

But he couldn't. He had too much to do. He had to look after his sons. He was the only parent they had left now.

Burt rubbed his eyes. He thought that after the funeral was over, it'd be easier, when there was some kind of closure. But no, he still felt as empty and depressed as ever. Maybe just a couple of hours wasn't enough time for anything to happen. Maybe in the next weeks and months it would be easier. He hoped so.

His thoughts, perhaps reaching for something to occupy themselves besides cancer and deaths and graves and the empty-feeling house, turned towards dinner. Luckily, even after the pizza was gone, there were still at least two casseroles in the freezer, courtesy of Mrs. Hemmings and Mrs. Reuben. He'd have to buy some cookies or something and have the boys deliver them. No sense disappointing Liz by letting himself or the boys starve...

The rapid knocks on the door, sounding just inches behind his back, actually launched him forward a couple of staggering steps. More annoyed than anything else, he turned, scowling, and opened the door. Standing on the porch was a tall broad shouldered man somewhat older than him, with grey-streaked red hair. His suit was very fancy (if Kurt were there, he would've immediately identified it as Armani), and the car on the street behind him was very definitely a new BMW. "Mr. Hummel?" the man said, his deep voice tinged with a strange kind of hesitancy.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry to bother you at a time like this, but I'm leaving Ohio tomorrow, so I had little choice. First of all, I want to express my condolences about your wife..."

"Thank you, but who are you? I don't know you, but you seem to know me..."

"Yes, well..." The man cleared his throat. "My name is Reese Hearthstone. I'm Debra Karofsky's brother."

"Get out." The words were out of his lips before he consciously thought of them.

"Mr. Hummel..."

"I said get out," Burt said, his voice both deepening and increasing in volume, "before I call the police."

"Mr. Hummel, please..."

"You fucking dare come today?" Burt snarled, rage and terror rising within him and mixing into a toxic brew of emotions that smothered rational thought. "After I just buried my wife? The mother of my kids? He's _my_ son, and if you think I'm gonna let you get within a hundred miles of him—"

"I'm not trying to take your son away from you!" The words came in a rush, as if the other man were afraid he'd only get one chance to say them. The use of "your son" actually pierced Burt's mind, allowed him to listen without exploding again. "I swear, I'm not here to cause any trouble. I just..." Hearthstone took in a breath. "I just want to see him. Meet him. Just once. And I promise I'll stay away forever, and I'll tell the rest of my family to do the same. I swear. I just want to see that he's all right."

Burt's heartbeat was starting to slow down now, but the toxic emotions still lingered. "How did you know you'd find him here? And why now?"

"My father was a very... influential man," Hearthstone admitted. "And my family and I just moved back to the States from Europe. The ink's barely dry on the deed to our new house, and..." His hands clasped tightly in front of him, as if he were close to bowing. "I saw the announcement of the funeral. I know it's bad timing, but..." Hearthstone looked up. "You know I know what it's like to lose someone close to you," he said with an all too familiar pain in his eyes. "My family — all of the Hearthstones... We haven't been doing too well since Debra and my father died. For eight years, we've regretted that none of us were able to take David in ourselves at the time. I just... We all need closure. I want to tell the rest of my family that I've seen him, and that he's happy and being taken care of."

"He is," Burt replied flatly.

"Just once," Hearthstone repeated. "And you'll never hear from any of us again. Please." His voice cracked on that last word, and Burt actually found himself considering this completely insane—

"Daddy?" a small voice said behind him. Burt barely had time to see Hearthstone's eyes widen before he spun around. David was at the foot of the stairs, dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, staring at them.

"David, come here." Burt's voice was choked, even as he reeled in disbelief that he was doing this. But Hearthstone was right; he did know the pain this other man — this other family — felt, and he had to do whatever he could to ease it, no matter what the risk. Besides, if Hearthstone tried to go back on his word... Well, then he'd know just what a colossal mistake he'd made. David was immediately by his father's side. "David, this is..." He hesitated; just who could he say this man was, anyway?

Hearthstone knelt so he was eye level with the small boy. "Hello, David," he said in a choked voice. "I'm your— I'm Mr. Hearthstone. I was... close to your mother."

It was almost breathtaking how simple the deception was. "Hi," David said shyly. "You knew my mom?"

"Yes, for a long time."

"Were you at the funeral?"

"No," Hearthstone said with a regretful shake of the head, as if he were speaking to a peer. "I'm sorry, I wasn't able to make it. But your mother was... a very special woman." His eyes were remarkably dry, but Burt, as an adult, heard a tremble in his voice that David probably wasn't aware of. "I know she loved you very much, and I'm sure she's very proud of you."

"Thanks," David said in a whisper.

"I have to go soon, but it was very nice to meet you, David." He held out a hand. David stared at it for a moment before slowly reaching out and shaking. Hearthstone looked down at their joined hands; Burt couldn't even begin to imagine what he was thinking, feeling, remembering...

"Yeah. You too." David let the hand drop; a flash of profound disappointment passed over Hearthstone's face, but Burt doubted the still naive child saw it.

"Go get the pizza out of the fridge, son." The two men watched the little boy disappear into the kitchen. "This is the last time I'll see you?"

"The last time," Reese Hearthstone said.

"And I'm supposed to just trust you on that?"

Hearthstone smiled humorlessly. "That would be very foolish, considering I'm a complete stranger. But let me tell you something: about five years ago, there was talk in my family about suing to undo the adoption." Burt felt his breath catch in his chest, as if by fishhooks. "My family is wealthy and influential; if we'd wanted to do it, we could've. But we didn't. Do you know what stopped us?" Burt shook his head, unable to speak. "My mother. She said... she said she'd had enough of families being torn apart." Hearthstone inhaled, so deeply that Burt could see his chest rise. "So have I. So have the rest of us."

"So that's it?" Burt said, his mouth dry.

"That's it. My family and I are going to trust you to do right by Debra's child from here on out — excuse me, _your_ child."

"I thought you said trusting a stranger would be foolish."

The humorless smile returned. "Yes, well, sometimes life doesn't leave us much choice, does it? Good night, Mr. Hummel." Burt watched as the suddenly very weary-looking man turned and walked back to his car, not pausing for even a moment to look back. The BMW roared to life immediately, and drove off.

Burt didn't know then that he'd never see Reese Hearthstone again. But he had a vague inkling of it, even then, staring at the empty curb where the BMW had once stood. He wasn't sure if he could've described what he was feeling at that moment; he could barely grasp it himself.

"Daddy?" He nearly literally jumped, whirling around to find Kurt standing behind him. "Who's at the door?"

"I— No one." He shut the door. "No one." He clapped Kurt on the shoulder. "C'mon. It's time for family dinner."

* * *

 **August 21, 2004**

"Stop it!"

"What's wrong? You gonna cry like a baby?"

"No, I'm not! I'm not a baby!"

"Hah, lookit the big baby! Go on, little baby Dave, _cry_!"

"Hey! What are you blockheads doing? Stop it! Now!"

"Ooh, now sissy Kurt's all mad! I'm soooo scared!"

"Aw, what do you care? He's not even your real brother."

"Yes, he is, and I love him, so you'd better leave him alone!"

"Uh, you know he's adopted, right?"

"Of course I do. And nobody cares, except you, and none of you matter!"

"Hey, did he just say—"

"I'm bored. These stupid kids are boring me. C'mon, let's go play football."

With one last glare of contempt, the group of kids walked off. Kurt exhaled a sigh of relief; he wasn't sure what he would've done had the encounter turned ugly, but he was very _very_ glad that it didn't. He looked down at his brother, sitting hunched on the ground, his eyes wet. Well, one small silver lining: this probably completely and permanently killed the former friendship between Dave and Azimio Adams, the head of the bullies who'd just wandered off. Kurt knew it'd been hard for his dad to forbid Dave from seeing him anymore, but with Azimio's dad being a big church man, and what Azimio had once said about Kurt, and the nightmare that followed... If nothing else, this confirmed that their dad had done the right thing, even if Dave probably didn't feel like it was.

Kurt looked down at his brother again. No, no "probably" about it. "You okay?" he asked gently.

Dave sniffled. "I'm not crying. I'm not a baby."

"Nobody said you were. Except those cavemen, and like I said, they don't count." Dave wiped at his eyes on the back of his hand as he scrambled to his feet. "This isn't the only time they've done that, is it?" There was no answer. "You should tell Dad."

"No," came the immediate and flat reply. "I can take care of myself."

Kurt raised a skeptical eyebrow, considering what he'd just seen, but he knew better than to voice his doubts. Instead, he said, "Of course. Doesn't take much to deal with lesser life forms like them." Dave laughed wetly. "I get bothered by those guys all the time. If I can handle them, you definitely can."

It was meant to be a compliment. But Kurt didn't notice Dave's shudder. "You're pretty brave," he muttered, so low that Kurt almost didn't hear him.

Kurt couldn't deny being pleased, but gave just a modest shrug. "Well, when you like what I do and dress how I do, you get used to it."

"How do you do it?"

It took a moment for Kurt to answer. "I think about Mom. She gives me strength."

"Oh." The word was wispy.

Kurt forced a smile on his face. "Come on, I was looking for you because it's almost time to go home. Dad probably has dinner ready."

"Yeah." Dave put on his own forced smile. "Okay."

As the two boys tromped home, not a word passed between them. Most of the words were whirling in Dave's head.

 _Kurt's so brave._

 _I'm not brave._

 _I'm not anything._

 _I'm not even really a Hummel._

 _But he still stuck up for me._

 _He said he was my brother._

 _The other kids pick on him all the time, even worse than me._

 _Kurt's so brave._

 _He can't be the only brave one._

 _I gotta be strong, like him.  
_

 _Mom would want me to be strong._

 _I can't be weak._

 _I gotta_ make _myself strong._

 _I gotta show everyone I'm strong._

 _Nothing's gonna happen to Kurt anymore._

 _I gotta be strong..._


	5. Chapter 5

**The Purple Piano Project**

Dave was on the computer, so he didn't hear the door to his room open. But he did jump as something slammed down onto the desk next to him. "What the hell...?" He looked up to find his brother glowering at him.

"I found that," Kurt almost literally growled, "in your jacket pocket while I was doing the laundry."

Dave looked down at the rumpled brochure for NYU.

"Are you serious?" Kurt demanded. "Are you really thinking of going to college in New York City?"

"Yeah..." Dave put on his game face. "Yeah. So what?"

"So what?! I find it very convenient that you never gave one sign of being interested in New York until _I_ said I was!"

"So what?" Dave repeated. "I can go to college anywhere I goddamn want!"

"Oh, you're really going to play dumb? All right, David, here's me telling you straight: you're _not_ going to NYU. You're _not_ going to New York. Hell, I'd prefer it if you weren't anywhere near the Eastern Seaboard!"

Dave stood. "Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?"

"Who the hell are _you_ to keep on following me?"

"I'm not trying to follow—!"

"Oh, I am _sick_ of the crap, David! It's always the same story, ever since we were kids! Well, guess what: I don't need protecting! Not then, not now!"

"Like hell!" Dave only vaguely knew what he was saying, what he was implying, but he couldn't bring himself to think rationally about it. "You barely survived McKinley!"

"I would've survived without you! And now you want to play bodyguard and nursemaid at college too? No!" Kurt swept the brochure off the desk. "I'm sick of living life with you hovering over my shoulder! I'm sick of being the... the psycho _nutjob's_ brother!"

Burt appeared in the doorway. "Hey, what's all the yelling about?" Neither of his sons heard him.

"I'm a fucking _nutjob_ now? For caring about your safety? That's all I've ever tried to do: keep you safe!"

"I didn't ask for any of it! I told you over and over to stop it! But no, it wasn't enough! You knew better! You always know better, and I'm tired of it!"

"Boys...!" But still they didn't hear their father.

"Well, not this time!" Kurt shouted. "You're not going to run my life anymore! There is _no_ way I'm letting you follow me to New York, and that's final!"

"You can't stop me!"

"Oh, you really want to test me? Do it! Maybe then you'll finally see that I never, _ever_ needed or wanted your fucking _help_! Ever!"

"You fucking ingrate! All this time, when I could've been living my own life...!"

"Then go! Do it! Leave me out of it! Do whatever you want, just... Leave me the _hell_ alone!" Kurt stormed out of the room, barely seeming to even realize his father was there as he pushed past.

The shove — more like a nudge — finally broke Burt out of his shock. "Kurt...!" He heard a door slam, and stepped towards the sound...

"Fine! Go fuck yourself, you asshole!" Dave bellowed. "You want me to leave you alone? Fine! I hope you fucking rot!" Burt stumbled forward a step at the force of the door slamming behind him. He stood there in the middle of the hall, mouth hanging open, barely able to even process what had just happened.

"Burt...?" Finn gingerly poked his head around the corner. "Is it over...?"

Burt sighed. "Yeah. And not even close." He didn't feel like clearing Finn's obvious confusion right then. He retreated to his bedroom to rest.

To think.

* * *

 **November 19, 2001**

"Kurt?"

"Yes?" Kurt looked up from his book at his brother, who was sitting on the floor in front of the couch he was laying in.

"Azimio said you were a 'fairy'."

Kurt grimaced. "I'm not surprised."

"But what does that mean? I thought fairies had wings and all that? Why would he think you have wings? Or does it mean something else?"

Kurt shut his book, sighing. David was a bit of a homebody, content to stay in a comfortable little bubble; Kurt was far more adventurous, in deed and eagerness to learn new things. Thus, his brother's naivete wasn't surprising. Still, to have to answer something like this...! Well, maybe it was better for him to do it; otherwise, David would inevitably ask their dad, and there was no telling what _he_ would do if he found out... "It means I don't act like other boys."

David's brow furrowed. "Yeah, I know. So?"

Kurt gave his brother a grateful smile. "Exactly."

"Huh?"

"Azimio's just being mean."

"I thought so, so I told him to stop it, 'cause you're my brother, and he said that you were 'gay'."

"Did he say what he meant by _that_?"

David frowned. "Nah. When I asked, he just said he was tired of talking about you and wanted to go play. So we did. I kind of forgot about it after that." David looked up at him. "Being 'gay' is bad too, isn't it?"

"No, it's not," Kurt snapped. "Azimio meant it in a bad way, but it's not a bad thing to be." He pulled out his trump card. "Mommy and Daddy said so."

"Oh." That settled it completely, as far as they were both concerned. "I'll tell Azimio that next time I see him at school."

"Good." He returned to his book.

"So what does 'gay' really mean?"

"Uh..." Might as well borrow a page from their dad. "Ask Mom."

"Aw, man..." Kurt hid a smirk behind the pages of his book.

* * *

 **December 30, 2002**

The door creaked open. Burt automatically opened his eyes, even though it was the middle of the night, and he'd gone to bed hours ago. He wondered when he'd become so sensitive to sound; he used to be able to sleep through thunderstorms.

No, check that. He knew exactly when: when it'd become a parenting necessity. When there was no one else to wake up instead of him. When his worries kept his nerves on edge too much to fall asleep as deeply as he used to anyway.

"Daddy?"

It was David, of course. He'd been expecting this. After all, this was a scene repeated many times in the past months. "Hey, son, what's the matter?" he asked, trying to infuse his muzzy voice with as much gentleness and warmth as he could as he turned on the bedside lamp.

"I can't sleep." The little boy rubbed his eyes. "Can I sleep here?"

Burt knew he should send David back to his room. He knew that. Every well-meaning person who listened to him said the same. They said he had to get David's life back to some semblance of normalcy and independence eventually, especially at his age. And he completely agreed.

But...

They'd just "celebrated" their first Christmas without Liz...

Fuck independence. It wasn't like he didn't need a loved one close to him at a time like this.

"Sure, David. C'mon up." He rolled over, clearing a space for his son (thus invading the space that used to contain his wife, mother of his kids... He tried very hard not to think about that). David happily clambered up, smiling as he settled into the nice warm space his daddy had left him. "Turn off the light, okay?" David obeyed, and the room was dark once more. But it wasn't as lonely this time. He ruffled his son's hair. "G'night." He turned over and closed his eyes. The bed shifted, and he felt his son's arm around his chest, a face buried into his back.

"M'sorry, Daddy."

Burt sighed; he twisted around and ruffled David's hair. "I know. But it's okay. We're all having a hard time right now, and this is what families do for each other in hard times: look out for each other. That's what loving someone means." He turned back around. "I know you're having a hard time right now. We all are. That just makes it more important that we look out for each other, okay?"

"Okay," David's now sleepy voice said. "Love you."

Burt wanted to respond, but he was already drifting off back into slumber.

* * *

 **August 5, 2006**

David (no, remember, he wanted to go by Dave now; "David" sounded too much like a little kid) didn't wake up that morning knowing he'd be setting an entire life course. Then again, when you're thirteen, just living each day has that potential.

It started similarly to any other Saturday: breakfast, reading and chores until lunch, then the afternoon free. On this particular Saturday, he and Kurt decided to go to the park. Their father approved; summer was going to come to a close soon, after all, so his boys needed all the sunshine they could get.

"Why football?" Kurt griped as they stepped onto the wide field of grass. The sun was beating down; they could hear distant screeches from the playground equipment.

"It's not like I'm actually gonna tackle you," Dave said as he tossed the ball up and down in his hands. "Besides, we roller skated last time, so it's my turn to pick."

"I know _that_ , but why football?" Kurt repeated. "You don't even watch it on TV with Dad half the time."

"Because Dad wants us to exercise, but I hate doing stuff where there's no point, like running or lifting weights. At least with sports, there's an actual game and competition and stuff."

"I don't know how much 'competition' I'll be."

"But at least I know someone else is suffering just as much as me," Dave said with a wicked grin.

"Oh, is that the way this works?" Kurt harrumphed. "Some brother you are."

"I also think I've got a pretty good throw, and I wanna try it out. Go long." Kurt's brow furrowed in confusion, then, with a shrug, he backed up a few paces. "No, further. Further... Okay, stop! Here we... go!" The ball shot out like a rocket. Kurt flailed for a moment before realizing it was sailing right over his head. They watched it bounce to the ground near the basketball court. "You didn't even _try_ to catch it!"

"I couldn't have caught that if I were a track star!" Kurt snapped back.

Silence.

"Well?" Dave asked.

"Well, what?"

"Go get it!"

"Oh, all right." Kurt spun on his heel and stalked towards the ball, muttering under his breath. "Stupid exercise. Stupid outdoors. Who needs the outdoors? Give me air conditioning and Internet..." He finally caught up to the ball, and was just about to reach down to grab it when a pair of hands came out of nowhere and snatched it up. "Hey!"

The hands belonged to a pair of nearby feet that Kurt hadn't even noticed, and the feet belonged to a boy about their age that Kurt didn't know. And judging by the sneer on his face, this wasn't going to be the start of a beautiful friendship. "Nice ball," he said.

"Thanks." Kurt held out his hands. The other boy held out the football, then snatched it away at the last second before Kurt's hands could close around it. "Hey, that's not yours!"

"Says who?" The boy tossed the ball up into the air, catching it with his other hand. "Seems t'me that it's mine now."

"Give it back, you overgrown ox!"

"You talk funny, don't you?" the boy said, his nose wrinkling.

"Oh, pardon me for paying attention at school!"

The boy frowned. "Hey, you saying I'm stupid?"

"I don't know," Kurt said, even as he knew he shouldn't be prodding a stranger like this, but unable to stop himself. "Are you?"

The frown turned into a glower. "Shut up!" The boy placed his hand on Kurt's chest and shoved; Kurt stumbled backwards, only just able to keep standing. "You'd better not be saying I'm stupid, because I could—"

"Hey!" Kurt and the boy turned to see Dave running towards them. "Leave my brother alone!"

Thirteen was a weird age for Dave — much as it is for many kids. So he could be excused for not noticed anything different about himself; it was his body, so he would be the most used to it. What he saw in the mirror didn't necessarily have anything to do with anybody else's perceptions; it was just _him_ — Dave.

But who was Dave? That perception was about to permanently shift.

Dave had tried to step up for his brother on numerous occasions — both to pay Kurt back for the times he did the same, and because, well, with Mom gone, who else would? Neither Dad nor Kurt had ever said those words out loud, but Dave heard and felt them all the same. Usually, though, the best he could do was turn the taunters on himself — which he didn't mind, if that was what it took. But seeing Kurt look so pained for him was almost less fun than the actual teasing and pushing around.

But this time... This time...

When Dave appeared, the boy's jaw dropped, and he turned distinctly white. Kurt noticed it right away, but Dave was too worked up for it to register.

"I-I'm sorry, man!" the boy stammered. "You're okay, right?" he asked Kurt with a note of desperation.

"Uh..." Kurt's mind was still trying to process everything. "Yeah..."

"Here's the ball back!" The boy practically shoved the ball into Kurt's chest. "I'm really sorry!" He turned and ran away as quickly as he could.

Dave blinked; what had just happened was finally sinking in. "What...?"

"You, uh..." Kurt looked at his brother with new eyes; now that he was paying attention, he could see... "I think that was because of you."

Dave blinked again. "Me?"

"Well... Yeah. You're growing up, same as me. You've gotten... big lately. Guess that's puberty."

"I've always been big."

"I don't mean fat, I mean, you know... Big. Tall."

"You mean... You mean I actually..."

"Scared him?" Kurt couldn't help smiling as he nodded. "I think you did."

The other boy wasn't a scrawny nerd by any means, but Kurt thought...? "I... _scared_ him...?" The thought repeated over and over in Dave's head for the rest of their time in the park, during the entire walk home, during a silent and shell shocked dinner in which Kurt filled in most of the gaps himself talking about some movie he'd just seen. It wasn't until he was about to take a shower that Dave had a chance to look at himself — really look at himself — in the mirror.

At first, he didn't see anything different; it was just... him. But if he really thought about it, really paid attention... Yeah, his stomach was a little flatter now, because he'd gotten taller. His shoulders were getting broader too, his chin a little sharper. He flexed; whoa, was that an actual muscle? That was the first time he'd ever had anything like _that_. And his hands... He didn't expect to be able to throw the football _that_ far, but maybe that was because his hands were bigger too...

Dave stared down at those hands, watched them curl into fists. New possibilities were crashing over him now, accompanied by an awe and wonder that warmed him to his organs.

"I can protect him now..." he whispered. "I can protect Kurt..."

His fists tightened, trembling and white-knuckled. And that was the last of David, the meek, ignored little kid.

That day, Dave was truly born.

* * *

 **April 9, 2008**

"Damn..."

"What?"

Dave's brow furrowed as he waved the book in his hands at his brother. " _The Jungle_. It's totally _not_ about meatpacking plants being disgusting!"

"No, it's not."

"It brings up _so_ much interesting and important stuff, but all people care about is the damn meat..." Dave snorted in disgust. "It's not fair."

"No, it's not," Kurt repeated with a shrug. "Personally, I don't have much of a problem with capitalism, mostly because I don't think any system can be completely untouched by corruption and greed."

"You've got that right," Dave grumbled.

"My, you're turning into quite the leftist," Kurt said teasingly. "What's next, hanging up the Soviet flag?"

"Ha ha. Just because I actually care about important shit doesn't make me a Communist."

"Oh, calm down, Malcolm X..."

"Hey, I'm taking that as a compliment."

"... But you know as well as I do that people with passion always get mocked by _somebody_ , no matter what they're passionate about." Kurt stuck his nose in the air. "It comes out of jealousy, frankly."

"Hah! For once I completely agree with you!" He held up a hand for a high five. Kurt just rolled his eyes and returned to his phone. Dave pouted in an exaggerated manner and lowered his hand. A few minutes passed in silence before Dave spoke again. "Hey, Kurt...?"

There was something in Dave's voice: the volume? Some shade of tone? Whatever it was, Kurt immediately sat up in notice. "Yes?"

"When did you know that you were..."

"Were...?"

"You know..." The next word came out in a small squeak. "... Gay?"

Kurt considered. "Well, I've always owned my traditionally feminine-leaning traits and desires, but that doesn't have anything to do with my sexuality. It's funny, though; I don't really know. It took me a while to figure out that what I liked wasn't completely common and normal. That's the kind of environment Dad and Mom always made for us." The question began sinking in. "Wait... Are you... Are you saying...?"

Dave was staring down at _The Jungle_ , but it was plain he was no longer reading. "I..." His Adam's apple bobbed, and his tongue sounded dry. He inhaled and tried again. "I think so."

"Oh." Kurt turned this over in his head. "When did you...?"

"A couple of years ago, maybe. I didn't really look at boys or girls really close before then, especially since most of 'em would just tease me anyway. But now... when I think about kissing someone else... It's..." Dave closed his eyes.

Kurt carefully put his phone down, got up, and hugged his brother across the chest. Dave leaned into the hug gratefully. "If you need any advice on the wonderful world of homosexuality, I'm right here. I've got experience—" Dave choked. "Not _that_ kind, you pervert! God!" He slapped Dave on the back of his head. "Experience reading and researching, I mean! See, this is what I get for trying to be a supportive brother!"

"Sorry, sorry..." The stifled laugh in Dave's voice was both annoying and comforting to Kurt.

"Seriously, though, why are you freaking out about this? You know Dad won't mind..."

"Do I?"

Kurt frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, we've never talked a lot about sex or anything like that. Dad loves you, sure, but that doesn't mean he has to approve of you being gay. I guess he might've _assumed_ long before now, but that's a different thing from _knowing_ , right?"

"Has anything Dad ever said to us or taught us lead you to believe he wouldn't accept you? Or me?" Kurt tried to keep the doubt — the completely unwarranted doubt — out of his voice.

"No, but like I said, that's because you've never actually told him. You just let it hang out there. He doesn't _know_ for sure."

"Hm. You may be right. Maybe it's time that changed."

"Wait." Dave also rose, striding immediately to the kitchen. "Dad?"

Kurt scrambled to his feet. "Dave? Wait, what are you—?"

He made it to the kitchen entryway just in time to see their father look up from his cup of coffee. "Yes?"

"I'm gay." Dave said that with a completely flat voice and crossed arms. Kurt stifled a gasp behind his hand. If he hadn't known better, he would've thought that Dave had been preparing that announcement for months. "I know you love us, but are you gonna accept that? Or are you gonna try to force me into little boxes I don't belong in?"

 _Typical Dave — barreling in like a rhino trying to be the guy in front so I don't get the brunt of it._ Yet that thought was much more distant than Kurt had expected; his focus was on their dad, staring at Dave with a blank expression that could've signaled or meant anything.

Finally, Dad carefully put down his coffee cup, went to his son, and hugged him. Dave stiffened in surprise for an instant, but quickly melted into the embrace. "You're my son," Burt Hummel said, "and I love you. That means I love and accept everything about you, including this." He looked up at Kurt over Dave's shoulder. "You too, Kurt. Whatever you are or want to be, it's okay with me."

"Dad..." Dave's voice was hoarse. "I was... I was scared..." _Hah_ , Kurt thought, _I knew it._

"I know," Burt sighed. "I grew up here in Lima. I did... I did some stuff I'm not very proud of when I was your age. But if any of that crap was still lingering from then, it died when I was raising you boys. Your mom... She gave and taught me so much, I can't even tell you..." He sniffled. "She'd be so proud of you both..."

That tore it. Kurt practically ran forward, grabbing up both his father and brother in his arms. The three Hummel men clung to each other for long minutes, lost in memories, lost in the comfort they found in each other. When they finally separated, Kurt wiped his face and said, "Dad? I've got something to say myself..."

* * *

 **Preggers (Cont'd)**

"Hey, Hudson!"

Finn Hudson spun on his heel to see Dave Hummel stalking towards him. He was immediately on guard. "Yeah? What do you want?"

"I heard you went to bat for Kurt so he could join the football team."

"Uh... Yeah." Finn stared at the glower on Dave's face. "You aren't happy about that? I thought you'd be glad I'm getting along better with him."

"I didn't know putting him in the middle of a football field with a bunch of bloodthirsty homophobic jocks was 'getting along' with him," Dave growled.

"Hey," Finn cried, "that's not fair!"

"What's 'not fair' is the way McKinley and your friends have treated me and Kurt ever since freshman year. So I'm gonna give you a friendly warning: if Kurt gets hurt, he won't be the only one." Dave jabbed Finn in the chest.

"What the fuck, man?" Finn said. "He can take care of himself!"

"You're kidding, right? He's never played a sport in his life. I have no idea why he wants to do this, but he wants to do this, so I'm making sure that none of you have the bright idea of using the game as an excuse to knock around the fag."

"You seriously think we'd do that? Or let someone else do that?"

Dave crossed his arms, making sure the muscles tightened and bunched as he did. "What have you done that'd make me think you wouldn't?"

"You really think we're a bunch of psychopaths," Finn said in an almost awed whisper.

"Yeah, well, I'd call throwing iced drinks at people's _faces_ pretty fucking psychopathic, if you ask me. But as long as Kurt stays upright, we won't have a problem. Consider this your only warning, Hudson." With a not-so-friendly clap on the arm, Dave nodded and stalked off. Finn waited until he was out of sight to let out a huge sigh of relief and wipe the sweat off his brow.

Finn cornered Kurt before glee rehearsal. The thrill that went up his arm when Finn touched it was quickly dampened by his words. "Your brother threatened me today."

 _Oh, God._ "I'm so sorry, Finn. I tried to warn you, but he can be a little... intense."

"Intense?" Finn repeated. "He scared the shit out of me! He's worried about you, I get it, and yeah, this school hasn't been nice to... uh, guys like you two. But for Chrissakes, Kurt, I'm trying to help now, and I'm _still_ getting threatened!"

Kurt rubbed his forehead. "Okay, I'll talk to him. But don't take him too seriously. I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." Finn gave him a skeptical eye. "It's me he's doing this for, after all. I'm his brother. I've been handling him my whole life. This won't be any different."

"Okay..." Finn looked like he wanted to protest more, but didn't get a chance before Mr. Schuester and some of their fellow club members came in, tabling the discussion for the time being.

But it would continue — and without Kurt.

Kurt was in a stall in the shower room relieving himself before practice when he heard the locker room door slam open, and voices become louder. "C'mon, don't tell me you're actually afraid of him?" That was Noah Puckerman.

"Hey, I think I could take him, but I do _not_ want to find out how hard it'd be. He's not a small guy, and you just know he fights dirty." That was Finn.

"If you want, we can all jump him. Just say the word, o mighty quarterback."

"Puck!" That was Matt Rutherford. But that realization was lost in a dawning sense of what — or rather who — they were talking about.

"Yeah, great, then I'd be the bad guy. Again." A locker clanged open; Finn sighed. "Makes me wonder if Kurt is worth the trouble, y'know?" Kurt felt his heart sink into his stomach, burning in acid there. "But you know that if we just ignored him, Dave would be on our case about that too."

"I don't get what the problem is," a voice Kurt didn't recognize right away said. "As long as we aren't assholes, there's no trouble, right?"

"Well, yeah, but I don't trust Dave to know the difference. He's a complete nutjob!"

Puck made a snorting sound, almost lost in the whisper of cloth. "I know. He thinks _you're_ a psycho?"

Kurt grimaced, choking back unpleasant sounds; he hiked his feet up so they wouldn't be visible under the stall door.

The unrecognized voice piped up again. "Yeah, well, he wasn't the one who was tossing around pee balloons, was he, Puck?"

"Hey, I got in enough trouble over that thanks to Dave, okay?"

"All I'm saying is, maybe if everyone just... lays low, just for a little while, then maybe Hummel wouldn't be on edge all the time, and he wouldn't go screaming to Principal Figgins every time someone looked at his brother the wrong way. Then we could _all_ relax, right?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Finn sighed. "I'll talk to the other guys about that. I just... Why did those two have to come to _this_ school, y'know? Why couldn't they just have gone somewhere else? Or lived in another county? Or another state?" Kurt almost clapped his hand over his mouth before remembering where it'd been; as it was, he stifled his voice until he heard the group leave for the field. Only when he was sure they were gone did he emerge, shaking a little — though whether from humiliation or rage, he wasn't sure. He almost forgot to wash his hands.

When he got home, he called a family meeting. In it, he was very calm and very reasonable, telling Dave (with his father's agreement) that Finn was a member of his glee club, an important extracurricular activity. They had to be able to get along in order to give good performances, and that would be harder if Dave was threatening him constantly. Kurt promised he'd tell the rest of the family if something untoward happened, but otherwise, to please trust him to look out for himself.

Yes, it was all very calm and very reasonable. But Dave (and very probably their dad) wasn't fooled; he knew — knew for a cold hard fact — that his brother was on the edge of exploding every minute of this discussion.

Who was Dave most afraid of? His brother — no hesitation. The guy was small compared to him, but Kurt was more intelligent and devious, not to mention infinitely more spiteful.

So Dave actually did ratchet down the hostility — for a while.

But the first time he saw a bunch of jocks corner a cowering freshman, the rush of rage filled him once more.

And so the wheel turned.

* * *

 **Wheels**

Dave glanced in annoyance at the phone. God, what was with Dad and his insistence on keeping the landline? "I don't want our cell phones to be our only phones. Who knows what could happen to the towers? At least they can fix lines pretty quick." Yeah, and towers are a lot harder to take down than wires. Dad was way too young to be so old.

And here was one of the most annoying parts: having to pick up and know that the vast majority of the time, it wasn't for you. You were basically doing a favor for someone else in the house (i.e. Dad). So primitive.

But Dave sucked it up (as Dave was wont to do) and picked it up. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was deep — artificially deep, obviously disguised. "What kind of man raises two fags?"

Dave didn't know that "seeing red" was a literal thing, but there he was, finding out personally. "Well, guess what, you asshole, this 'fag' has caller ID! You moron, who the fuck uses their own phone to make prank calls? You'd better hope I never track you down, 'cause if I do, I'm gonna curb stomp you so hard you'll need dentures! If I _ever_ find out that you've called this house again, first I'm gonna put you in traction, then I'll sue you and your family for every penny they've got until you're all living on the street! _Then_ I'm gonna paste your photo online so everybody, forever, knows what kind of fucking cunt—" Huh, how long had he been listening to a dial tone? It was then that Dave became conscious of how hard he was holding onto the phone, so tightly that it almost hurt. He slowly lowered the headset back onto its cradle; there was a weird shadow falling over it that wasn't usually there...

Dave looked up. Dad, Kurt, and a few of his friends were standing in the open front doorway, staring at him with jaws dropped. The friends, especially Mercedes and Tina, stared at him with wide eyed fright. He struggled to remember what he'd said; it couldn't have been _that_ bad, could it? Maybe it was the way he looked...? How _did_ he look at that moment...?

Kurt was the first to speak. "You know what," he said, raising his hands in surrender, "I don't even want to know. Come on, let's go to my room and continue our discussion." He stalked off towards the stairs, his friends following; Dave was conscious of how unusually wide a berth they were giving him. He and his Dad watched them disappear upstairs before Dad shut the door behind them.

"Want to tell me what that was all about?" he asked gently. Dave began to form the words "it's nothing" before realizing how colossally stupid that would be. "Was it some kind of prank call? About you guys?"

The heat was rising in Dave again. "This isn't the first time...?" he growled. "Does Kurt know?"

"No, but I'm handling it."

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Because the way I'm handling it is the way that kind of crap deserves to be handled: by forgetting about it and not letting it affect my life. I couldn't give less of a damn what some anonymous kid thinks of me, you, or the way I've raised you; _I_ know who I am. I know what I've done right and wrong. And I know you and your brother are two of the best kids a father could ever ask for, and there's _nothing_ wrong with either of you."

Calm was slowly starting to seep back into Dave. Maybe it was the quiet confidence his dad spoke with. "You still should've told me," he repeated lamely.

"I think that's _my_ decision, son. But maybe you're right: I shouldn't have let you find out this way. If anything else like this ever happens, I'll get you and Kurt and tell you what you need to know, all right?"

Dave nodded; the simple gesture seemed to take way too much effort. "Okay. I just wish you'd told me so I could do something..."

Burt didn't tell him then that this was why he hadn't mentioned the calls before: because he knew Dave would want to "do" something about it. When was the kid going to learn that you can't "do something" about _every_ injustice in life? "Like I said, I just wanted to give those assholes the attention they deserved, which is none. Sometimes direct confrontation isn't the way to go, okay?"

Dave was still fuming, but he could at least think coherently again. "... Okay. All right. Just let me call the phone company and find out whose number—"

"David..."

"Okay, okay, I'll let it go. For now."

"Good. Why don't you help me start dinner? Kurt has some news about that competition he's having with Rachel Berry..."

"So it's on? Hah! I knew we put the fear of God into Figgins!"

"You don't have to look so pleased about that. But I understand; I liked sticking it to the man in my day..."

"'Sticking it to the man'? How old are you, a hundred? And that reminds me, why the hell do you insist on keeping our landline...?"

"Hey, I'm still the father here, you know!"

* * *

 **March 9, 1999**

"Kurt?" The small voice drifted down from the upper bunk bed. Kurt was just on the verge of falling asleep, but that bare sound snapped him out of it.

"Yes?" he responded in annoyance.

"Can you promise me something?"

"What?"

"Don't go away."

Kurt turned over in his bed. "What do you mean?"

"Don't go away. Like my other mommy and daddy and brother did."

 _Oh_. Kurt rubbed his face, now fully awake. "We won't. Mommy and Daddy told you, remember?"

"Yeah, but... my other family prob'ly didn't want to go away either."

Kurt could feel something break in his chest. He was always an empathetic kid, and this... this was his _brother_ — even if David didn't think he was. "I promise," he said with a certainty only found in kids his age. "I won't ever go away. Pinkie swear."

"You mean it?"

"Of course I mean it!"

"Oh. Okay." Silence from the upper bunk. Then: "I love you. And Mommy and Daddy."

"We love you too."

"You didn't have to love me. You weren't my first family. But you did anyway."

"Because we wanted to," Kurt said, echoing his parents.

"I'm really glad you did."

"So are we."

"I'm gonna help." There was determination in the little voice.

"Help what?"

"Make sure you never go away, like my other family. My family's never going to go away, ever again!" The voice was now harsh, almost cold. Kurt had never heard David speak that way before, and he wasn't sure he liked it. "Nobody I love is ever gonna get hurt again!"

"That's nice." Kurt yawned. "I'm tired. Go to sleep."

"... Okay."

As Kurt drifted off, he already began forgetting about the whole conversation. His last thoughts before he fell into slumber was that David probably would too — get over his fears and worries.

How long could he possibly hold onto them, anyway?


	6. Chapter 6

**June 15, 2010**

" _David_!"

"What do you want now?"

"Were you the one who loaded the dishwasher?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, you did it _wrong_! Look at these plates!" Dave walked into the kitchen to find Kurt waving a food-encrusted plate in the air, splattering the floor with pasta debris. "You didn't even rinse, didn't you?"

"Uh, that's what you put them in the _dishwasher_ for. Rinsing wastes water."

"Says who?"

"Says the Internet."

"Oh, of course, the _Internet_. And it's _never_ wrong." Kurt dropped the plate back into the open dishwasher. "You know what _is_ a waste of water? Having to wash dishes _twice_ because they came out of the dishwasher with food still stuck to it! Honestly! I think you just skipped rinsing because you're lazy..."

Dave sneered. "Not everyone is a caffeine-hyped Type A like you!"

"You say that as though it's a bad thing," Kurt said with upturned nose. "Well, I'm not going to let you use this as an excuse to get out of chores. You do it the _right_ way..."

"There you go again, acting like you're the boss of this house!"

"Well, _someone_ has to make sure these things get done correctly—"

"Oh my God, do you listen to yourself sometimes? It's like you're trying to be _Dad_."

"Excuse me for wanting to eat off of clean dishes! Speaking of clean, that reminds me: you didn't sort your laundry properly again! I had to spent ten minutes separating by hand! How the hell do you get your clothes so smelly, anyway?"

"I keep telling you, I can do my own laundry—"

"I can't stand seeing you mistreat the perfectly fine clothes you have! They'd all be faded pill-covered ghosts of their former selves if it weren't for me!"

"You just said that like I was beating up my kids!"

"Clothes are an _extension_ of you, David. They are part and parcel of your entire image, your entire... being!" Dave actually barked with laughter. "I'm being serious, here!"

"I know! That's why I laughed!" There was a knock on the door; both boys approached it, still talking. "Anyway, I like my image! My image is perfectly fine!"

"Nobody's image is perfect. I don't know why you won't listen to simple tips that would help you immensely..." Kurt opened the door; two clean cut young people, a man and a woman, were standing on their porch, smiling brightly.

"Hello!" the young woman said as she clutched a clipboard in her hands. "We're going door to door looking for support for the second annual March for Marriage sponsored by St. Luke's Church."

"Father Andrew Mitchell is working hard to preserve traditional marriage in this state," the young man chimed in, "and we could really use your support."

"You can buy tickets to our carnival or raffle, sign up for our parade, or donate as little as $5. Every penny goes towards the fight for traditional values, and is tax deductible!"

"Ah, yes," Kurt said dryly. "That's very important."

The smiles on the faces of the pair wavered, but only slightly. "So!" the young woman said, "would you like to support our cause today?"

Kurt and Dave exchanged a _look_. Had this pair known what that _look_ meant, they would've run away screaming right then and there.

"Well, that depends..." Dave said with a small smirk. "What do you think of Exodus 35:2?"

The two chipper young people frowned. "What?" the man asked.

Kurt and Dave exchanged another look, this time with a disgusted eye-roll. _Amateurs._ "So," Kurt said, "no opinions on Matthew 5:32?"

"Or Timothy 2:11?"

The young woman was the one who spoke up next, appropriately. "Ah... Well, I'm sure Father Mitchell would be happy to discuss the Bible with you..."

"Actually," Dave said, "I'd prefer discussing the Bible with _you_." He gave a rather obvious leer and eyebrow waggle towards the young man. "In private." The man immediately turned beet red.

Kurt gave the woman an appraising look, one that she immediately wilted under. "Have you ever handled a whip before?"

"Uh, thank you very much for your time good day!" The verbal diarrhea was immediately followed by the two beating a hasty retreat down the walk.

Dave snorted. "Sheesh, that was too easy! Wimps."

"They sure don't make them like they used to," Kurt said with a sad shake of the head. He turned to his brother, squinting in the bright sunlight. "Hey, when was the last time you had a haircut?"

"Oh, god, not this again..."

"You look barely presentable! I don't know why you won't go to my stylist..."

"I told you, Supercuts is just fine. It's just a goddamn haircut!"

"And that's why you're terminally single."

"Oh, like _you_ can lecture me about being single!"

"How dare you! I try to help, but no, I just get ignored..."

Kurt slammed the door shut, cutting their voices off from the outside world.

* * *

 **August 9, 2010  
**

"Um... Kurt?"

"Yes?"

"Can you murff mfff mfff..."

"What?"

"Can you mffff murmur murmur..."

"For God's sake, I can't understand a word you're saying. Speak up. What's the matter with you?"

"Okay, fine. Can you..." Dave coughed and took a deep breath. "Can you teach me how to dress better?" The last words were rushed and mumbled again, but this time, they were clear enough.

Kurt perked up, his spine ramrod straight. He gasped in mock shock; Dave rolled his eyes. "Am I hearing this right?" he asked in a tone that was a mixture of wonder and amusement. "You, David Hummel, are asking me, your brother, Kurt, the same brother you've called a 'fashion Mussolini', to teach you how to dress better?"

"Y-yeah. See, I wanna do petition driving and all that one of these days, and I figure anything I can do to up my chances of someone stopping to listen is a good thing. I kinda decided that the way I dress had to be part of it. And, well..." Dave exhaled. "Goddammit, I hate inflating your fucking ego."

"No, no, you realized that you needed to go to an expert, and you went to the best you know. That's _your_ wisdom... even if it is a little obvious."

"I'm so gonna regret this, aren't I?"

"Only if you don't pay attention."

"But you are gonna do it for free because I'm your brother and you love me, right?"

"Of course not." Dave visibly wilted. "In exchange for lending you my expertise, I want you to teach me how to play Street Fighter IV."

Dave gaped. "You're fucking shitting me."

Kurt's nose wrinkled. "I'll never understand where you got that foul mouth. Certainly not from me or Dad. But no, I'm not 'shitting you'. I kind of... picked it up one day when you were out."

Dave was still gaping. "But you've never played a fighting game in your life."

"Well, I was watching over your shoulder last week, and... I was kind of impressed at the jump they'd made with the graphics."

"You mean..."

"Yeah. Ryu was kind of hot." Kurt glared as Dave cackled. "I know you think you have blackmail material now, but I'll own it. So anyway, I decided to try playing, and it was... kind of fun."

"Ohmigod. All these years of me _begging_ you to play with me, and you basically telling me I was some kind of caveman for liking that kind of game, and all it took was one hot guy for you to change your mind?"

"Do we have a deal or not?" Kurt asked irritably, crossing his arms.

"Heh... Eh, why not? Seems like a fair trade. So when do we get started?"

"How about right now," Kurt said, leaping to his feet with a huge smile. "Lesson number one: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. I can't afford everything I want with our family's budget, but what I do have goes well together. That elevates the whole ensemble, so it doesn't look like a bunch of disjointed pieces I got out of a secondhand store. That's what coordination is, and it's one of the most important skills I can—" He paused. "You'll want to take notes." Another pause. "I'm serious. Go get a notebook."

Dave grumbled as he lurched to his feet. "This better be worth it."

"Believe me, the lessons I teach you will serve you for the rest of your life. And none of it will become obsolete just because someone decided to put out a sequel."

"Hey, you don't have any room to make fun of me for that shit anymore! Besides, hand-eye coordination and fast reflexes are plenty useful!"

"That reminds me, is there any downloadable content that'll unlock shirtless characters?"

"I wish..."

* * *

 **September 1, 2010  
**

"You kidding? You can go fuck yourself!"

"Dave!"

"Sorry, Dad. But Kurt deserves it! He thinks I'm some kind of sucker!"

"I'm being perfectly fair! No, I'm being _more_ than fair! Just because you're too ignorant to—"

"Oh, now I'm stupid, is that it?"

"There's a difference between stupidity and ignorance, although I'll admit you're treading a fine line right now..."

Burt sighed. "Okay, boys, cool it. I'd like to take my turn sometime this century."

Kurt shot Dave a glare. "Fine, I'll give you Marvin Gardens and $2000 for Baltic and North Carolina."

"I want Water Works too."

"What?! No way!"

"It's just a utility! It's nothing!"

"Then why do you want it? You just want that entire quadrant of the board to pay you out!"

"Yeah, and? You want my properties? Take it or leave it."

Kurt seethed. "Fine." He slapped deeds and cash onto the table in front of Dave and snatched away the ones he wanted.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Dave said smugly.

"Just you wait: you'll roll a seven next turn. We'll see who's laughing then!"

"All right, you two, calm down. You _both_ suck at this game."

"Hey!" Kurt yelped.

"We'll remember that when we're looking for your nursing home!"

"All I know is that _I_ have the dark blues and the oranges, _and_ the most cash." Burt grinned, shaking the dice between his palms. "And the dog."

"That's only because you whined until we let you have it," Dave grumbled.

"Hey, I'm the one who puts food on the table around here. I gotta pull my weight _somehow_." He rolled, spilling the dice across the board. "That's a Community Chest card, and... Oh, well, would you look at that? Each of you owe me fifty bucks!"

Dave tossed a colorful fifty at his dad with a glower. "How about this," he said darkly to Kurt. "We take the old man out first. _Then_ we kill each other's bank accounts."

"Deal."

"You think you can take me?" Burt laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "Bring it on."

That was when the game _really_ started in earnest.

* * *

 **Furt**

Kurt gently knocked on the bedroom door. "Dave?" No response. "David, I'm coming in." Still none, so he opened the door, which thankfully wasn't locked.

No lights were on — not a good sign. There was a huge lump on the bed, turned facing the windows. It wasn't moving, but since it wasn't snoring the roof off, it wasn't asleep either. Kurt sighed. He shut the door behind him, then turned on the desk lamp (so as not to blind anyone with a sudden flood of light) before settling onto the floor beside the bed.

They sat (or laid) in silence for long minutes before it was broken. "I'm so sorry," the lump whispered without turning or even moving.

"It's not your fault." The words weren't as firm or as confident as Kurt wanted them to be; a shiver of guilt ran through him.

"It is. Because I'm such a shithead. It's all my fault..."

"You're not responsible for the way other people treat me."

"But you're leaving McKinley because of me..."

"No, I'm leaving for _me_. Because I care about my brother, and want him to be safe." Kurt couldn't help but chuckle. "Sound familiar?"

The lump stirred, just a little. "It's still because of me. If I wasn't such a hothead..."

"Then you wouldn't be you." Kurt sighed. "Look at it this way: blaming yourself takes the focus off the people who're really responsible: those troglodytes at McKinley. If they've won — and I don't consider this a victory for them, no matter what they think — it's a temporary one. We'll figure something out. I promise."

"If I just changed, you could stay..."

 _And how long do you think_ that _would work, before you slipped back into your usual ways?_ Kurt managed to suppress the words before they were formed; he wasn't sure if it was easier or harder than he'd thought it'd be. "Then that really _would_ be a victory for them. You fight. That's who you are. Sometimes I worry about how far you go, but I've never wanted that to change — except maybe a few times when you made me _really_ mad. But I don't blame you. Neither does Dad. We all want what's best for everyone, and... I think this is for the best."

"You really believe this is the best for everyone?" Kurt didn't have an answer for that, and he wanted so badly to. "Kurt, I..." Dave finally turned over to face his brother; his eyes were dry, but swimming in misery. "I just want you to be safe. That's all I've ever wanted. And now because of me..."

"Okay, stop that train of thought right there," Kurt said, patting him on the shoulder. "I'm getting enough of that from Finn without hearing it from you too. Look, guilt isn't going to solve anything. I'm trusting you to figure out a way to solve this whole mess, for good, and you and I both know you're not going to be able to do that if your judgment is clouded by self-pity." He smiled. "And I bet I'll be able to solve this before you."

Dave snorted, a shadow of a smile breaking on his lips; that relieved Kurt more than almost anything since this whole situation began. "Yeah, right. Like you'll be able to think surrounded by all those rich pretty boys at Dalton."

Kurt laughed and shoved a pillow on top of Dave's head. "I think I liked you better when you were pouting. It was definitely more peaceful." He stood. "But now that you've stopped brooding for now, I've got to get dinner going." He started towards the door. "I'll even make the marinara extra-thick for—"

"Kurt?" He turned at the sound of his name. Dave was sitting upright on the bed, the pillow that was once over his face now in his lap. His eyes gleamed in the lamp light. "I... I'm going to get you out of this. I swear."

"I wish you'd let me save myself once in a while. But... I appreciate your concern. Thank you."

With that, and with Dave still silent, Kurt slipped out and gently shut the door behind him.

* * *

 **A Very Glee Christmas**

" _David_! You forgot to flush the toilet again! You disgusting—!"

"That wasn't me, Kurt! Maybe it was Finn!"

"Don't go blaming Finn for this! You've had this problem for years now..."

"I flush the toilet every goddamn time!"

"So you say, every single time!"

"I can't believe you don't believe me! I'm your _brother_!"

"Yes, well, that's _why_ I don't believe you!"

"Oh my God, you act like you're _so_ superior. At least I can make dinners people can stand to actually eat!"

"How dare you! Last night's dinner was perfectly delicious, not to mention festive..."

"Do you know _anybody_ who likes Brussels sprouts?"

"You are so picky! Don't like sprouts, don't like peppers, don't like mushrooms..."

"So I've got taste buds! So sue me!"

"I can't believe you! I should've stayed at Dalton for the holidays. I would've had better company with the janitors!"

And so it went. Finn shook his head, a small grin on his face, and turned back to Burt, who was sitting on the other side of the sofa. "Were they always like that?"

Burt rolled his eyes. "Their whole lives. Is it starting to sink in, what you've signed up for?"

Finn shrugged. "As long as Mom is happy, I can deal." An unreadable look passed over Burt's face; Finn didn't notice, instead continuing. "But seriously, I didn't think they'd fight this much, the way Dave looks... looked after Kurt at school." His own face twisted in an odd look as he remembered: remembered why Kurt was no longer at McKinley, why this was the first time he'd spent more than a few days in a row in the home that was supposed to be his — theirs — in weeks. He shook his head again, almost violently this time, and went on. "If anybody else talked to Kurt the way he does, he'd punch their lights out."

"That's siblings for you. You're an only child, so it's not really something you can understand."

"I guess not. Man, this is all kinda trippy, you know? I never thought I'd ever get to know those guys this way."

"Yeah? How long have you known them?"

"Since elementary school, I guess. But not very well — we kinda had different circles, y'know?" Finn winced anxiously, but Burt merely nodded. "I kinda remember Dave... He was real quiet back then. Heh... He's definitely not quiet now."

"No, that he's not." There were many sentences Burt could've said to follow up on that statement, sentences that came to mind one after another:

"I'm not sure it's for the better."

"I don't know where the innocent little boy I knew went."

"What do you think made him change? Can I change him back?"

But none of that would've been appropriate. So instead, he stayed silent, listening as Finn said, "So what next?"

It took Burt a moment to figure out what he was talking about. "Oh. Well, we usually watch _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ on TV."

Finn laughed. "Seriously? I haven't watched that since I was, like, eight!"

"Finn..." Carole strode into the room, her voice lighthearted, but with a distinct edge of warning. She sat on the couch between the two men, reaching to rub Burt's knee and Finn's shoulder affectionately.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, Burt."

"No, it's okay. This is why you're here: to get used to us and our traditions." Burt paused. "Kurt's and David's mother loved that show. She was always the most eager of us to watch every year. Yeah, Kurt and David got tired of it when they were about eight, like you did, but after she..." He swallowed audibly. "It's kind of their way of remembering her this time of year."

"Oh." Finn's cheeks burned with shame. "I'm sorry."

"I told you, it's okay. There's no way you could've known, and you're here to learn. And hey..." Burt smiled. "You still have to teach us some of your Christmas traditions."

Carole was silent for whatever reason; it was Finn who answered. "It's been just me and Mom for years, even before Dad died, so we don't have a lot." He grinned. "So it's actually kinda cool to be in a family that does."

"Yeah, well, I like traditions. They're comfortable. Stable." And that was a little further than Burt had meant to go, but somehow, he did anyway. Maybe it was the atmosphere, the mood. He felt Carole's hand on his knee squeeze, not to mention the need to break that atmosphere, right this second. "Boys!" he roared over his shoulder. "You'd better get a move on! It's about to start!"

"Coming!" Kurt and Dave hurried into the living room from the kitchen, sliding to the floor in front of the sofa. As Dave grabbed up the remote control, Kurt passed around small bowls of popcorn, laying the larger "master" bowl in front of his crossed legs.

"Greedy pig," Dave snorted in good humor as he flipped channels.

"I'm surprised you didn't slip 'capitalist slave' in there somewhere."

"Hey, you're the one addicted to one of the most exploitative industries on the planet."

"And yet you walk around with your iPhone assembled with labor paid two cents an hour. Hypocrisy isn't a good look on anyone, Dave."

The three on the couch exchanged silent glances and smirks.

"Hey," Dave snapped as he settled on a channel, "where's the furikake?"

"Right here." Kurt rolled his eyes as he tossed a small plastic can at Dave, who deftly snatched it out of the air. "You're such a mess of contradictions, David. Won't eat peppers, but you'll happily scarf down anything from a foreign country, no matter how disgusting it is..."

"Xenophobic snob," Dave snorted as he opened the can and shook what looked like little black flecks all over his popcorn. "If it was from France, you'd eat it right up."

"It's about the _culture_ , dear brother."

"You saying non-European countries don't have it? You racist—"

 _Christmas time is here... Happiness and cheer..._

All the banter immediately stopped, the boys' attention now glued to the television, no sound except the chorus of children and the crunching of popcorn. Though they couldn't see it, Dave was mouthing lyrics along with the TV. Carole laid her legs over Burt's lap as she leaned against her son's shoulder.

And together, as a family, they watched.

* * *

 **July 1, 2011**

"Oh my fucking God, it's hot as balls!" Dave peeled his shirt, dark with moisture, away from his body.

"Stop complaining and help me set up the tents," Burt said from across the small clearing.

"Remind me again why Carole and Finn didn't come with us?" Kurt asked as he offloaded the last of the bags from the back of the truck.

"Because this is just for us — the original Hummel men," Burt replied as he hammered a tent stake into the ground. "Carole and Finn are family, but I thought it'd be nice to have a weekend with just the three of us again."

"Lucky them," Kurt muttered under his breath. He snatched a handkerchief from his pocket and blotted his face.

"And it had to be this weekend?" Dave groaned, handing his father an assembled set of poles.

"I told you, this is the only weekend I could spare from the shop, and we'll be back in time for the fireworks. Now quit whining and set up camp. This is gonna be fun." Burt looked up to see the boys just staring at him, not moving. "Come on, I know you remember what to do; it hasn't been _that_ long." He clapped his hands briskly. "Chop chop, get a move on."

Both his sons simultaneously gave him a sarcastically snappy salute and got to work. Burt shook his head wryly.

The weekend got off to an... interesting start when it was discovered that a few important items had somehow been forgotten — like a can opener. Burt's beer. Toilet paper.

The can opener was no big deal; the vast majority of their food was either in bags or cans with pull tabs. The beer, Burt grumbled about (eyeing Kurt with suspicion; the glare was returned with an innocent shrug that, while well-acted, failed to fool the father in the slightest), but he could live without it for a few days. But the toilet paper...

"Oh, no. There is absolutely _no_ way I am trusting whatever the park facilities _might_ have. And that assumes their facilities are actually usable!"

"Kurt's right, Dad. I am _not_ gonna wipe my ass with leaves!"

Burt sighed. "Okay, okay, I get the picture... And honestly, I gotta agree with both of you. I'm gonna drive out and buy some toilet paper." A loud gurgle emanated from Dave's belly. "Now." He took the keys out of the pocket and strode towards the truck. "Get the fire ready while I'm gone."

"Don't buy any more beer! You need to lose weight!" Kurt yelled after him. Burt gave no indication of having heard him as he drove off. "Why do we humor him so much?"

"Because it makes our lives a hell of a lot easier in the end," Dave said as he began clearing debris out of a well-worn fire pit. "Besides, it's cute when he gets an idea in his head."

Kurt chuckled. "True, that."

Dave looked up, sweat already beading again on his forehead. "If you're not gonna help me do this, at least start gathering wood."

"All right, all right, already..." Kurt began stalking towards the treeline.

"Hey, where's the tinder?"

"In the green duffel bag!"

"You sure it's gonna work?"

"Of course I'm sure! If I know anything, I know clothes, and lint is responsible for thousands of fires every year! It's excellent tinder!"

"If you say so." Dave watched Kurt vanish into the forest before turning his attention back to the pit. In about fifteen minutes, he had the pit cleared and decently cleaned. "Okay, then," he muttered to himself. He dusted off his hands and automatically reached for his left pocket. It was empty. Oh, right, Dad was the only one allowed to bring their phone. Bastard. He glanced at the trees. Kurt was taking his own sweet time. Shaking his head, he crossed the clearing and plunged into the forest. He followed the trail, his pace slow as he reveled in the coolness of the shade. Except for the rustling of branches and his own footfalls, there was no sound. "Kurt?" he called out. No response. "Did you get yourself lost? Or eaten by a bear?" Still nothing. His pace quickened as he made his way down the trail. "Kurt? Come on, man, where the fuck are you?"

"Over here!" Sighing in relief, Dave jogged around a bend that took him past the hollowed out remains of a massive fallen tree, and saw his brother. Kurt was facing away from him, standing near the end of the left fork of the trail, which led out through another edge of the forest.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dave asked as he approached; Kurt didn't turn around. "Did you do _any_ work? I'm telling Dad if—"

"Look," was all Kurt said in a quiet voice. Dave finally took a look over Kurt's shoulder, and inhaled sharply.

Spread out before them was a lake, the waters glistening in the summer sun. The sky was blue and clear, a slight breeze shaking the treetops around the water. The distant lapping at the shore was only barely covered by the splashing of a couple of people swimming. A flock of birds flew overhead.

"Wow," Dave breathed.

"Yeah. Not bad, is it?"

They watched one of the swimmers emerge from the water, stretching out his broad shoulders and rock hard pectorals as he shook out his long blonde hair.

"Beautiful," Dave said.

"You can say that again."

They took in the sights — all the sights — for long minutes, then reluctantly trudged back down the path. "Did you at least get some _actual_ wood before you got distracted?"

"Barbarian," Kurt muttered, slapping his brother on the forearm. Dave snickered. "Yes, I did. I left it in a pile right over there." He snatched up a large stack of branches from atop a moss-covered tree stump.

"Good. C'mon, I don't want to have to listen to Dad bitch if he gets back while we're not there."

Luckily for them, they made it back in plenty of time. By the time the truck rumbled back into the clearing, Dave and Kurt had set up the tarp over their eating area and stored the food safe from bears. "Good work," Burt said to the two sweat-soaked teenagers with a nod as he slid a large paper bag out of the cab from next to him.

Kurt frowned in suspicion. "That's a big bag for just a few rolls of toilet paper."

"That's my business, kid. Let's get in a hike before dark."

The two teenagers gaped in horror. "A hike?" Kurt repeated.

"In this heat?"

"Yeah, that's the entire point of the great outdoors. We went on hikes all the time when you were kids, remember? If you can do that then, you can do this now. Besides, we can use the time to talk to each other and connect with nature, like men." Burt pulled a long hiking stick out of the back of the truck. "Come on, this is your chance to get something done besides shutting yourselves in a room sewing or signing e-petitions. Besides, it's been too long since we've just spent time together ourselves."

"There's a reason for that," Dave said under his breath. Kurt snickered, but Burt didn't seem to hear.

"So get a move on, you two. We'll work up a good appetite before dinner. Make sure your canteens are full."

"How about this?" Kurt whispered in Dave's ear. "We let Dad take the lead, and once he turns his back, we run, hot wire the truck, and get the hell out of here."

"If he catches me, save yourself."

As it turned out, the hike wasn't as bad as Kurt and Dave were expecting. It was worse. There was the heat, yes, that all-pervasive stifling heat, even under the canopy of leaves, but there was also their dad's ham-handed attempts at _reconnection_. The effort he was putting in was _painfully_ clear, and it was obvious that he was not content to just "let" things happen naturally. So there were a lot of aborted conversation starters like:

"So, how's school?"

"Over."

"Oh. Right. Um... Tell us about that rally you went to last week, Dave."

"Only answer if you can do it without ranting, David."

"... In that case, I should pass."

"Well... okay. Kurt, anything interesting in fashion lately?"

"You actually want to know?"

"I... Yes?"

That was in addition to Kurt getting three mosquito bites and Dave slipping on some leaves and, to quote him, "bruising [his] fucking tailbone."

Then Kurt discovered that he accidentally left the skin lotion at home along with the can opener, beer, and toilet paper, and Dave burnt his hot dog into a cinder (though Kurt actually found enough humor in that last to forget about scratching for a few minutes).

At least, night fell, and so blessedly did the temperature. Burt made his sons halfheartedly "ooh" and "aah" over the stars ("What's that constellation over there?" "If I had the phone, I could tell you." "Nice try, Kurt."), and then it was time for bed.

"Only because there's nothing to do after dark," Dave grumbled.

"It's better this way," Burt said as he zipped open his tent. "I'm gonna get you boys up early tomorrow. Might as well do everything we can before it gets too hot."

"Great." Dave heaved himself into the other tent, where Kurt was already changing into night clothes. "You'd better not keep me up half the night scratching."

"As long as you don't keep me up with your snoring, I won't." Kurt smacked his mouth. "Ugh, it's hard to practice good dental hygiene out here, never mind skin care."

"I can smell your skin cream from here," Dave groused with wrinkled nose. Dave's head knocked against the flashlight hanging from the tent's "ceiling", whipping the light about as he rummaged through his backpack.

"That's the least of your worries. Just try to guess what Dad is going to try to do in the name of family bonding tomorrow."

"Oh my God, don't. I'll be up all night." The two boys settled onto their sleeping bags. "'Night, Kurt."

"'Night, Dave." Kurt snapped off the flashlight. Now there was only darkness, and the sound of crickets, over which they could only barely hear their father turn over in his tent. "This feels like when we were kids, sharing the same, uh, room again."

"I know."

More darkness. More silence.

"Dave?"

"Hmm?"

"You can't hold on to us forever."

Kurt could hear Dave shift on his sleeping bag. "What?"

"I mean, I'm not staying in Lima. Or Ohio. I'm sure of that now," Kurt said, feeling the distinct discomfort of his tongue rolling ahead of his brain. Was he truly saying the right thing? Was he actually clearly communicating what had been on his mind for months, perhaps years now? But once he started talking, he couldn't stop. "And Dad... I know how much what happened to him scared you, because it scared me too, but the fact is, it happened. So stop thinking that you can keep us safe forever."

A silence resulted that was almost cold. Kurt could barely make out his brother's features in the almost nonexistent light, so he had absolutely no idea what was going on in his head. When Dave finally spoke, it was without affect. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"We aren't going to leave you, Dave," Kurt said desperately. "Even if I'm across the country from you, you'll always be a part of my life. You'll always be my brother. But please, I need to live my own life."

"You seem to be living it pretty well to me," Dave's still flat voice said. "So what's the problem?"

Kurt sighed. Yeah, this was going about as well as he'd expected. "We're not your responsibility, David."

"I know." There was a hint of some emotion in his voice now, but damn if Kurt could tell what it was. "But you're family. Family is supposed to watch out for each other."

"I know, but..." _You're smothering me, Dave. I feel smothered._ Did he really want to say that? It was harsh, and perhaps a little exaggerated, but still accurate enough that maybe it would get through to him. But at the same time, he _knew_ exactly why Dave was doing this, and he couldn't fault it, not in a million years. On the other hand... Arrgh, why did life have to be so damn complicated? "You should talk to somebody, David. Maybe Ms. Pillsbury..."

"I don't need to talk to anyone." Now that note in Dave's voice was one Kurt was all too familiar with, having heard it directed at way too many peers at McKinley. "I'm fine."

"Just..." Kurt's head pressed into his pillow. "Let me make my own mistakes once in a while? Please? I'll be better off for it. And I _swear_ if I need someone punched, I'll come right to you. Okay?"

Dave snorted; Kurt wasn't sure which of them was more surprised by that. "Okay."

"Okay." Kurt had no illusions that this was completely over, but at least he'd said his piece. He could at least get some sleep now. Unless... "If you snore, I'm going to smother you with a pillow."

"God, you're such a delicate flower. At least it's dry so your precious clothes won't get muddy."

There was a rumble in the sky above them.

"I hate you."

* * *

 **August 4, 2011**

"We're back!" Burt yelled as he and Finn stepped into the house.

"Hey," Kurt said as he came downstairs. "How was the game?"

"Awesome," Finn enthused. "You shoulda been there with us!"

Kurt shook his head. "You straight men can keep your sports."

"Give me a minute to get settled and have a drink, then I'll be ready to clean out my closet, Kurt."

Kurt clapped his hands. "Excellent! It's about time you took my advice! You know, you could actually be somewhat fashionable if you just put a little thought into it..."

"Hey, Dad." Dave came into the foyer from the kitchen, sipping at a bottle of Coke.

"Oh, Dave, you still need help with those flyers?"

"Yeah, Anthony had to back out. I was thinking of dropping some off at Dalton too. Can't hurt."

"Sounds good. Talk about it after dinner?"

"Yeah, sure." The three teenagers went off on their separate ways, leaving Burt alone in the foyer. He'd just barely begun to move when he felt a pair of soft, feminine arms wrap themselves around his torso, and a chest press against his back. "What?" he said, chuckling.

"You're such a good father," Carole said, her voice only somewhat muffled by Burt's back.

"Yeah, well... I have to work hard for it." And was _that_ an understatement; ever since he and Liz suspected where Kurt's sexuality was beginning to lean, he struggled constantly to balance the more masculine interests of Dave and the natural draw towards Kurt as his biological son. That was only complicated when Finn came into the picture; he had to remind himself constantly that he had three sons now, and all three needed his attention equally.

It was hard sometimes, damn hard, especially when he had to overcome a lifetime of social prejudices and old habits of thinking, but it was a promise he'd made to both Elizabeth and himself. Besides, if this was the kind of reward he got for it... He'd do it for the rest of his life.

And he'd probably have to.

He had no idea how he'd managed to succeed even as much as he had raising the boys after Liz's death — but then, his own dad always said that you never know what you're capable of until your back's against the wall. Under other circumstances, if life had been just a little different... Would he have been a different kind of father? Would he have buckled under the pressure of his own upbringing? He hoped not, but he'd probably never know, so it wasn't worth worrying about.

Carole's voice broke him out of his introspection. "I know. That's why I married you: because it _doesn't_ come easily for you, but you do it anyway. Elizabeth would be so proud of you."

And that, Burt thought, was why he married Carole — because she somehow knew, just knew, what he needed to hear. "Thanks," he said, clasping her hands in his. "You're part of it too, you know. I don't think I'd be able to do this without you."

"You did, for eight years, and I have to say you did a damn good job." Carole squeezed. "But I'm glad to help."

"Thanks," Burt repeated. And despite the soft tone of the word, he meant it with every fiber of his being. He turned and pecked Carole on the forehead. He looked up. "Hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Exactly. Nothing. It's silence. This house... is at peace."

"Oh my _fucking_ God!" Dave's voice burst out upstairs. " _Kurt_! What the hell did you do to the bathroom?!"

"It's my bathroom too, and it stunk like a locker room in there!"

"That didn't mean you had to put all this _crap_ in it!"

"Hey, cleaner's privilege! Maybe now you'll treat the place with a little respect!"

"I dunno, Kurt, I kinda agree with Dave..."

"See? See? You're the _only_ one who likes living like this!"

"Oh my God, you're talking like I'm wearing a skinned kitten as a hat! It's just a couple of towels!"

"And the mirror frame, and the soap dish, _and_ the potpourri..."

"Better to smell the potpourri than your sulfurous _gas_!"

"He's got a point there, Dave."

"And did you _have_ to use _that_ toilet seat cover? It's so... so..."

"What?"

"... Gay?"

"Finn!"

"Finn!"

"What?"

"Only we're allowed to use that word as a pejorative!"

"What?! That's not fair...!"

Carole chuckled, poking Burt in the nose. "You jinxed it."

Burt sighed the heavy sigh of a long-suffering father.

 **AN: The next chapter will focus heavily on this AU version of Dave. If you're surprised by this, you haven't read my other work. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: I'm actually back to this. I'm hoping that writing more regularly, and putting out relatively short chapters, will keep the mojo going. I don't like it when I don't finish stuff.**

 **July 15, 2015  
**

"I've been thinking..."

"Uh oh." Dave stuck his tongue out at Kurt. "Really? What are you, twelve? But seriously, what were you thinking about?"

"Life. How weird it is."

"Don't I know it."

"I just wonder sometimes. What would've happened if things had been different."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Like..." Dave turned red. "Never mind..."

"No, what were you gonna say?"

"It'll make me sound like a complete asshole."

"That's because you are a complete asshole. Now finish your sentence before I plot some kind of humiliating revenge with your boyfriend."

"Okay, fine." Dave took a deep breath. "Like... I wonder what would've happened if I grew up with my birth family. What life would be like now. What we'd be like." He turned to his brother, staring with half a wince on his face, as if waiting for the recriminations to erupt.

Instead, all he got was a nod. "Of course. That's completely natural, Dave. I'm sure every adopted child has those thoughts at least once in their lives. And even some who aren't."

"I know, it's just... Being a Hummel just means so much to me, I don't want to sound... I dunno, ungrateful..."

"Believe me," Kurt said with a lopsided smirk, "one thing I will never think is that you don't value us." The smirk melted away as Kurt considered. "But I don't know what could've been different. It's kind of futile to try to guess, so it's usually not worth thinking about. Still... I happen to believe that as much as nurture affects us, there are certain parts of our core self that would resist such change."

"Oh? Like a soul?" Dave asked with a grin.

"No, not like a soul! It's just that I find the idea of our personalities just being a collection of brain impulses that could shift with any sort of injury or stimulus to be kind of... bleak. I know it's probably true, but... I have a romantic side too. I like to think that there's some part of us that's _us_ , that doesn't change. I mean, look at us: we were raised by the same parents, but in many ways, we couldn't be more different. I think that comes from someplace fundamental inside us."

"So if I weren't your brother..."

"I like to think I'd be largely the same. Maybe better in some ways, maybe worse, but basically the same person." Kurt's eyes twinkled. "You, on the other hand..."

"I knew I shouldn't have brought this up."

"I think being a Hummel has improved you significantly. If you lived with anybody but us, I think you'd be a vastly inferior human being."

"Oh, right, that's because you were _such_ a good influence on me, right?"

"Obviously not enough," Kurt sniffed, casting a critical eye on Dave's current clothing. "I think I failed you as a brother, unfortunately. But..." Kurt's voice and face softened. "At the same time, I think you being in our family has improved us too. I can't imagine it being just Dad and me after Mom died. I think we would've driven each other crazy, or maybe retreated into our own shells. But having you in our house strengthened us. You gave us a reason to go on. Three legged stools and all that."

Dave stared; his Adam's apple bobbed. He parted his lips as if to say something, but nothing came out at first. He took a deep breath and succeeded on his second try. "No, you guys gave me a reason to go on. After my birth family died, after Mom died... You guys kept me sane."

Kurt sniffled — from the dry air or something, obviously. "No, actually, I think we did a damn poor job of _that_." Dave laughed wetly. "But that's what family does."

"Yeah," Dave said hoarsely. "That's what family does."

"So are you still wondering what you'd be like if things had been different?"

"A little. But I'm not going to let that keep me from appreciating what and who I have now."

"Oh, my, wisdom! I take everything back: we've obviously been a _tremendous_ good influence on you."

"Go to hell."

"You first."

* * *

 **January 8, 2010  
**

"Hi, I'm collecting signatures for a petition to expand Ohio's hate crime laws to match up with federal laws. Would you like to sign?" The girl breezed by without a word or a glance, too enraptured in her phone. Ah, well, Dave told himself, at least it wasn't because she was disinterested. Or not _just_ because.

He shivered in the early morning chill, tightening the scarf wrapped around his neck. He was cold and tired, he still had to finish his history homework, and despite all of his prep and Internet research, he _still_ felt like he was completely unprepared for what he was doing. He did not need the apathy and hostility of his fellow classmates...

"Hi, I'm collecting signatures for—"

"Freak."

"Fuck you too!"

... But he was getting quite a bit of both.

Dave muttered under his breath darkly, mentally berating himself for having some actual hope that McKinley would show any kind of compassion. But then, he was that desperate, wasn't he? Or maybe he'd been looking for some sign, any sign, that his next four years of high school wouldn't be the hell he feared it would be for himself and his brother?

If so, he hadn't found it yet. All the worst stereotypes were out there in full display, most especially the complete intolerance for anyone who committed the unspeakable crime of being _different_. Dave could take care of himself, but Kurt...

Well, that's why he was doing this: for his brother, for everyone else like his brother out there.

"Hi, I'm collecting signatures—" Okay, that one definitely tuned him out deliberately. Maybe if he rephrased his introduction, talked about the cause up front instead of trying to break the ice first, he'd get more bites?

And Ryan Reynolds would drive up and sweep him off his feet and have beautiful half-Canadian babies with him.

"You." The voice behind him stiffened his spine. "Yeah, you. Gay Guevara." Slowly, Dave turned. Somehow, Coach Sylvester's nose was already mere millimeters away from his own.

"Um..." He wanted more than anything to stay calm, casual, spit out his spiel. But his throat — his entire _body_ — locked up. He couldn't even feel any humiliation at the fact. He wasn't _stupid_ ; he knew when he was at a disadvantage. "Hi... Coach."

Sylvester's gaze, as frigid as the winter weather, lowered to the clipboard in his hands. "What's that?"

"Uh... A... a petition..."

"Ah. You said something about hate crime laws?"

"Y-yeah."

Sylvester raised an eyebrow. "Didn't Figgins tell you to cut out the soapboxing?"

The mention of Figgins sent a much needed jolt of hot anger through him. "Yeah, he did. But I'm doing it anyway. I've got free speech rights, just like anyone else. Besides, whatever he does to me is nothing compared to what the victims of hate crime go through."

Surprisingly, Sylvester didn't respond; she just stared at him with those hard, cold, almost reptilian eyes. In fact, she didn't break that eye contact at all, not even for a second, as she snatched the petition out of his hands, signed it with the pen tied onto the clipboard, and handed it back. Dave stared down dumbly at the paper in his hands; despite her not even looking at what she was writing, her signature was perfectly centered and level on the once blank line.

"Come by the teacher's lounge this afternoon," she said without a single unusual note to her voice. "I have a feeling the entire faculty will be lined up to sign." She turned on her heel. "And straighten that spine," she snapped without even turning around. "You're twitchier than an epileptic puppy."

Dave's jaw remained dropped, and his heart rate elevated, until Sylvester disappeared into the school. Finally, without her... _aura_ , he was able to shake off the mental trauma. He had absolutely no idea what that was all about, but he had a signature, and, if Sylvester was right (and he had the oddest certainty that she was), he'd have a bunch more soon. Wasn't that what he wanted?

He heard footsteps behind him. _C'mon, Hummel, get your head in the game._ "Hi," he said as he turned, "I'm collecting signatures for a petition to expand Ohio's hate crime laws to match up with federal laws. Would you like to sign?"

"Sure!" It was the first direct, audible affirmative he'd heard all morning. As a result, his tongue tied itself into a few neat knots. He didn't know the boy standing in front of him, except for a few glimpses in the halls occasionally. He was hard to miss, being one of the relatively few non-white students at McKinley — tall, lean, kinda cute. The boy grinned a white grin. "So, uh... Can I sign now?"

"What? Oh, yeah!" Dave handed over the clipboard as he mentally kicked himself; he'd never felt so off in his life, and he hated the lost, helpless feeling. It was all Sylvester's fault. "Heh, sorry; you're one of the few people who's actually signed."

The boy shrugged as he signed the petition. "My parents were activists. So were their parents, and their parents. I got relatives who helped run the Underground Railroad, marched in DC, testified in Congress..."

"So you understand," Dave said a little breathlessly. He didn't explicate further, but if he was right, he didn't need to...

"Yeah," the boy said with a firm nod as he handed the clipboard back, "I do." He cocked his head a little. "I've heard a lot about you."

Dave snorted. "I'll bet."

"Ah, I knew you couldn't be _that_ bad."

"So what?" Dave glared at the boy's letterman jacket. "You ever tell your buddies that? Or stop 'em from calling me and my brother names no one should ever be called?"

The boy flushed in what actually resembled shame. "Sorry..."

"No, no, it's okay," Dave said hastily, though he wasn't sure why he cared about this dude's feelings. "I didn't mean..."

"I still want to make it up to you somehow."

"... Why?"

"'Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.' I've heard that a million times from my grandpa and my mom, and they'd both slap me silly if they heard I was lookin' the other way while bullying was going on. You aren't going to tell them, right?" There was just a shade of "not joking" in the mostly joking tone.

"Nah, I won't. And it's fine. I know how hard it can be to get involved when you're not directly involved."

"Don't mean it's right, though."

"No, it doesn't," Dave admitted.

The boy stuck out a hand without hesitation despite the honesty. "I'm Anthony Rashad."

Dave accepted the shake; it was _warm_. "Dave Hummel."

"Yeah, I know. I told you, I've heard a lot about you. You've kinda made a name for yourself at this school already."

Dave laughed. "Yeah, well, you gotta shake things up sometimes."

"I know. Believe me, I know." Dave didn't know what it was about his tone, but he really did believe Anthony _did_ know. "Hey, I've got a few friends in the Black Student Union who'd probably sign the petition. Want me to introduce you?"

"Hey, that'd be awesome!"

"Then follow me." Anthony clapped a hand on Dave's shoulder and cocked a thumb towards McKinley with a wide grin. "Let's get you some help shaking things up."

Dave tried not to let his knees give way.

* * *

 **January 14, 2010**

Anthony was definitely straight. Dammit.

* * *

 **December 11, 2010**

Nevertheless, Anthony was a cool guy. The stories he told of him sitting at his parents' and grandparents' knees, listening to memories of Malcolm X, Medgar Evers, and Jesse Jackson, weren't necessary to make one thing perfectly clear to Dave: he understood The Struggle. Yeah, it'd be stupid to try to compare his own activism to what Anthony's family fought and literally bled for, but the fact remained that they shared a... wavelength that not even he and his brother shared. Having that here, right in front of him, and not across some cold distant Internet connection was... heady.

Anthony knew what it was like to feel like you were alone while in the middle of a crowd of people; maybe more, in fact, because he occasionally got a peek behind the curtain — what his peers said and did and joked about behind closed doors, when they forgot he was black. "Even the guys you'd think are cool. They don't think they're being racist." Anthony said it with a shrug, as if he were used to it — or resigned to it.

But all that resignation seemed to evaporate every time he and Dave talked about activism. Many was the afternoon when they'd start talking about the latest police brutality scandal or protest march. Almost every time, it felt like they'd only be talking for a few minutes before Anthony's mother was knocking on the door and wryly asking Dave if he wanted to stay for dinner again.

For the first time in many years, Dave Hummel felt so much less alone, it was like he was living an entirely new life. He felt guilty the first time he thought it; it felt like an insult to everything his family had done, and was continuing to do, for him. But at the same time, they were his _family_ ; it wasn't like they had a choice (although his being adopted did make it more so than normal). Anthony was someone he had no previous relationship with, someone with absolutely no existing stake in his well-being, and they _still_ connected.

Anthony Rashad was, in short, Dave's first real friend.

Kurt gently mocked him, of course ("Of course your best friendship would revolve around mutual hate of the rest of the world."), but Dave could tell his brother was happy for him. Besides, Anthony was a way better video game rival than Kurt could ever be.

It was during one of those marathon gaming sessions they could get deep into (this time Madden NFL — the only way Dave would get anywhere close to the game of football) that one particular topic was first brought up. "So," Dave said as halftime paused the game, "how's things going with you and Mercedes?"

Anthony shrugged. "Not bad. She's nice."

"Not feelin' it, huh?" Dave said sympathetically.

"Not so far," Anthony sighed. "You talk with your brother about setting people up based on race?" His tone was half-joking, but only half.

"Hey, I told you, it was because you were my friend already, so you were vetted. Besides, it's not his fault. I mean, yeah, he's socially progressive, obviously, but he's too worried about his future stardom to think nearly as much about these things as I do."

Anthony chuckled. "So what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Getting a boyfriend. I can't believe Kurt hasn't tried to set you up with anyone."

Dave rolled his eyes. "Like he'd set me up with anyone without trying himself first. The two of us are, like, most of the out gay teen population of Lima. Besides... I seriously don't think much about it."

"I'll bet."

There were shades there, in Anthony's tone. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Uh, all I'm saying is that you're... focused, man. It's, like, I don't know shit about what you want outta life, and I know _way_ more than I want to about my teammates. Half the time all we talk about is The Struggle, and that's cool," he hastened to add. "It's just... You're not the kind of guy who's really focused on yourself."

Later (much later), Dave would start to understand where Anthony was probing. But at that time, at that moment, he was a stupid shithead. On the other hand, would he have wanted to go down that path with himself then? Maybe not. But that didn't change the fact that at that time, at that moment, he replied, with a casual shrug, "I guess. I mean, I've got it pretty good, compared to other kids out there. It's all because of my family, man. Dad and Kurt. I'd... I'd seriously do anything for them."

"Yeah, I know." Again, those shades. This time, they went completely unheard.

"Anyway, between school and work..." This, they both knew, referred to The Struggle, as Anthony put it. Anthony's brow furrowed, just a little, but that was about as blatant a reaction as he gave. "... Like I said, it's just not something I think of a lot. Maybe it'd be different if we were surrounded by cute gay guys, but as it is..." He shrugged. "I don't mind waiting."

"I'm sure you don't." So many implications, and he missed every single one.

Would he have said more had Dave not remembered the game? They'd never know. "Hey, you gonna press start, or what?"

"Oh! Oh, yeah. Get ready for the ass whoopin' of your life, Hummel."

"Hey, shut the fuck up with your heteronormative stereotyping. You think I can't take you, any day, in any way?"

"This has nothin' to do with who you sleep with. This has to do with who you _are_. And what you are, Dave, is an inferior gamer. But it ain't your fault. You were just born a loser."

"Oh, that is _it_. I'm gonna kick your ass so hard, the Xbox is gonna feel it."

"Just a bunch of words 'til you actually _do_ it, brother."

"Just watch."

* * *

 **January 16, 2011**

"You know," Kurt said, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms, an impish smile on his face, "normal people would actually be out enjoying the weekend."

"And there are normal people in this house?" Dave muttered, biting the cap of his pen, not tearing his eyes away from his laptop for a second.

"Touche." Kurt strode forward and snatched the pen out of his brother's mouth with a grimace. "Stop that. It's disgusting." He tossed the pen onto Dave's desk. "So what are you doing this time? Another online petition? I know you're not reading Fox News again, because you're not screaming at the screen. I don't know why you keep doing it when you know it's bad for your blood pressure..."

"Because it's important to keep up on what the enemy's doing. As for this..." Dave winced. "This is, um... research."

"For school?"

"Not school." Dave let out a sigh. "I'm researching the Karofskys."

"The...? Oh." Kurt sat down on the edge of the bed closest to the desk. "What have you found out?"

Dave glanced at his brother for a moment, eyes searching — for what, Kurt had no idea. Finally, after a long moment in which Kurt was starting to get impatient, Dave returned his eyes to the screen. "Not a lot. My dad's... my _birth_ dad's side of the family was pretty small. Not a lot online. His parents were dead by the time he died, and he didn't have any brothers or sisters. Closest relatives he had were cousins. My birth mom's family is the more interesting one." Neither boy knew that this was exactly when Burt just happened to be passing by outside in the hall. Hearing those words, he froze, by the door, just out of their sight. "Apparently, my blood grandfather was a big time businessman. His kids all work in the family businesses, and so they're, like, filthy rich."

"Hm. Wonder why you weren't adopted by one of them, then."

"Dunno."

"So why are you looking them up now?"

"Well, 'cause last week I met with Ms. Pillsbury to discuss colleges. She asks me, what do I want to do, and I suddenly realize I have no fucking clue. I've been kind of living for the present, you know? I've been so focused on it that I never really thought about the future."

Kurt nodded. Burt, hidden around the bend, leaned against the cool wall. "I always thought you'd be doing something with your activism."

"That's what I thought at first, but then Ms. Pillsbury asked whether there was something else I thought I might like doing, or be good at. I can't think of anything at first, so she asks if there's some kind of family business I could continue, and there's the garage, but I don't think I have what it takes to be a mechanic. You've always been better at that."

"Very true," Kurt said with a smirk, remembering that time when they were eleven that their father presented them with a competition: sample engines to diagnose and repair, cobbled together from spare parts. Kurt breezed through his with little thought. Dave ended the episode covered practically head to toe with oil.

"And Mom studied architecture, but she never really got to do anything with it. So I start thinking, what else is there? Then I remember..."

"Your birth family," Kurt said quietly. Dave nodded. "So what did you find out?"

"Paul Karofsky was a lawyer. Debra Karofsky was an MBA."

"Either of those sound interesting to you? Your Karofsky blood calling out to go into one of those fields?"

Dave shook his head, aiming a punch at his brother's arm. Kurt gracefully dodged. "I thought about it, but not really. I don't want to be part of the military/industrial complex. Lawyer sounded interesting, going up in court against the government and corporations, but having to work in the legal system would be... frustrating."

"Yeah, you always were the in-your-face type. More Punisher than Daredevil any day."

"I suppose," Dave said with a snort. "But once I got into looking, I sorta found... I couldn't stop. I really wanted to find out more about where I came from."

"So...?" There was a lot left hanging, all of it clear, all of it heavy. Burt found his jaw clenching, just a little.

"It's... weird. Kind of surreal. I'm reading all this stuff about these families, and I share DNA with them, but they're... strangers. Like, they've got nothing to do with me."

"You've never met any of them before. They literally _are_ strangers."

"I know that! I'm not an idiot!"

"Most of the time."

Dave turned to his brother in annoyance. "Why are you here again?"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Go on."

"Remember I tried searching for 'em when I was a kid just to see what they looked like? I still can't find anything. It's just... weird, knowing I came from these people, but I still have no idea what they even looked like."

"Does it matter?" Burt had that same question himself in his mind. "I mean, obviously, it does matter to you. I guess the question is: how much?"

Dave sighed, tossing his pen onto his desk. "I guess... I mean..." He shook his head. "It sorta matters, a little, or like you said, I wouldn't even be thinking about it. And these are my roots, so I am curious, but... At the same time, I'm trying to think of a way it would change a damn thing about me or my life, but I can't think of any."

"Unless you have some genetically heritable condition."

"Oh, gee, now that you bring that up, I feel a lot better," Dave said sardonically.

"I'm your brother. My purpose in life is to pick you up."

"So you can kick me back down again?"

"Why, I never! Are you implying I get some kind of _pleasure_ in yelling at you?"

"Because it makes you feel superior? Damn right you do!"

"You make me sound like some kind of... of sadist!"

"And that's not what you are? Sometimes I think you buy me new clothes and make me wear them just so you can see me suffer!"

"You wouldn't 'suffer' if you'd just _look_ at something that's not a single layer of cotton or denim and take the time to _appreciate_ how it makes you look!"

"And I don't _want_ to look like something out of a magazine with cologne samples in it!"

"So you just want to be a slob forever?"

"At least I can get up and out of the house in less than an hour!"

"And _that_ is why your grades are so mediocre!"

"This has nothing to do with grades!"

"It has everything to do with your attitude towards life!"

"Oh, it's not _me_ that has an 'attitude'..."

As the argument raged on, Burt relaxed. This... this was _normal_ , at least for this house.

He didn't know why he cared at all. It wasn't like this was the first time Dave had shown curiosity about his birth family. Nor was he concerned in the slightest that Dave felt like anything less than a full member of the Hummel family.

It was just...

Why did life have to be so _complicated_? He loved his boys the way they were, and made sure they knew that every day, but he was under no illusions that the rest of the world thought as highly of them as he did. In fact, if Dave knew how much his father's personal politics had shifted leftward in the past decade, he would've been as "insufferably smug" as he sometimes accused Kurt of being.

It was enough of a struggle for him, as a parent, dealing with a hostile society on his children's behalf — he couldn't imagine actually having to _live_ it like his sons did.

In fact, it made him wonder, sometimes... Could he follow Dave's lead? Was there a way he could actively work for change for his boys, for everyone even a little like his boys? Maybe politics — become a city council member or something...?

Burt shook his head wryly at the idea. "Nah." He walked away, leaving Kurt and Dave to bicker in "peace".


End file.
